


Ritual Sin

by Morgana



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-20
Updated: 2011-03-20
Packaged: 2017-10-17 04:14:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 15
Words: 31,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/172791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morgana/pseuds/Morgana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rituals have always governed the Winchesters' lives. Now it seems there's one that just might save the world...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the spnj2bigbang 2009. Special thanks to our amazing beta ash_carpenter, who went over this with a fine tooth comb and got it back to us at the speed of light. We're counting on her (and all the other fine harlots out there) to keep us company in Special Hell.

"You really mean it? I can go with you tonight?" Sam tossed his history book aside, scarcely able to believe that Dean was actually considering it. He started to scramble off the bed, then stopped and gave his brother a suspicious look. "Wait a second. You never let me go. What's the deal?"

Dean smoothed one hand over his hair, smirking at Sammy in the mirror before he grabbed his jacket from his bed and shrugged it on. "Dude, it's your birthday. Plus, I figured it was time you knew what's what, you know, since you're gonna be my full-time wing man pretty soon," he teased.

His wing man? Sam wasn't exactly sure he knew what Dean was talking about, but it sounded cool, especially since it meant getting to go to the bar with him, so he didn't ask. He grabbed one of Dean's button-down shirts and pulled it on over his T-shirt, then grinned. "So, where are we going?"

Dean grinned at Sam's obvious eagerness. "Thought we'd go to Nicki's, check out the local action," he told him. They weren't too strict about checking ID there, which was just as well; while he'd had a fake ID for years, he doubted Sam could pass for much more than 18, despite how tall he was. He started towards the door, but paused just before he pulled it open, giving Sam a quick once-over. "You sure you're up for this?"

"Oh yeah!" Sam assured him, doing his best not to just jump around like a spaz as he followed him out.

Two hours and four beers later, Sam was starting to see why Dean liked going out so much. "Man, this is _great!_ I love beer," he announced, giving the waitress a loopy grin as she set the next round down in front of them.

She smiled at him, then glanced at the guy next to him. "Um, is your friend all right?"

Dean gave her his best disarming grin in response and slid another twenty onto her tray. "He's just a happy drunk, sweetheart. How's about bringing us some hot wings, though?" Something to eat might help Sammy be a little less exuberant, and while Dean was enjoying the sight of his brother without any of the usual sullen teenage attitude, he figured the whole happy act was creeping the waitress out just a little too much.

She shook her head and muttered, "Lightweight," under her breath as she headed back to the bar. Thankfully, Sam didn't seem to hear, because he just took a swig from his bottle and beamed at Dean. "So, what do we do now?" As great as he was learning beer was, he doubted that it was enough to keep Dean out almost all night, and he'd been promised the full package, so he intended to see that he got it.

Dean shook his head and took a swig of his beer. "Okay, you see that hot chick over there?" he asked, gesturing with the bottle towards a tall blonde at a table near the bar. Sam nodded and Dean smirked. "You're gonna pick her up."

"Pick her up," he repeated carefully. "Yeah, I can do that." He took another drink, then nearly spat it out as Dean's meaning caught up with him. "Wait... you mean you want me to have SEX with her?"

His voice rang out and several people turned to look at them, but Dean was too busy trying to mop Sam's beer off the table to notice. Sammy was just lucky he hadn't managed to hit him, because Dean couldn't have let that go without seriously beating his ass. "That's why we're here, Sammy-boy," he told him. It was about time Sam got some action - he couldn't let his little brother be a virgin forever, and if he didn't step in and help out, that was a very real possibility.

"Don't call me Sammy," he shot back without thinking, then took a shaky breath and nodded. "Okay, here goes." Pushing away from the table, Sam started towards the blonde his brother had picked out. "Just pick her up," he mumbled to himself. "Sure. No problem." And to be fair, it probably wasn't - for Dean. But he wasn't his brother, as both his father and countless girls at numerous schools had pointed out.

But Dean seemed to think he could do this, and Sam didn't want to disappoint him, so he gave the girl a nervous smile as he walked over to her table. "Is, uh, is this seat taken?"

She glanced at him, her eyes sweeping up and down, and he didn't think he'd ever felt more like a pathetic high school geek in his life. "That depends," she replied coolly.

"Oh yeah? On what?"

"On how good your pickup line is," she replied. "That is what you were coming over to do, isn't it?"

Sam could feel his cheeks heating up as she looked at him. "Uh, yeah, I guess it was," he admitted. But she wasn't screaming for the bouncer or throwing a drink in his face, so he gave her a sheepish grin and asked, "I guess asking if you come here a lot would count as pretty stupid, huh?"

She laughed and nodded. "Definitely. And not too often. How about you?"

"Oh yeah, all the time," he assured her. "I, uh, I love beer."

She gave him an indulgent smile, the way someone might treat a puppy who'd just done something cute. "I'm sure you do. Quite a bit, I'd say."

Glancing over his shoulder, Sam saw Dean grin and give him a thumbs up, obviously unaware of how badly this was going. When he turned back to the woman, he knew it was now or never. With his heart pounding, he scrubbed his damp palms on his jeans and blurted out, "Do you want to come back to my place with me?"

Her eyes widened, caught off-guard by the proposition, and he waited for her to yell at him and call him a pervert, but she just shook her head and gave him another smile. "I don't think so."

"Yeah, I didn't think so." She smiled at him again, and he offered, "I could buy you a drink anyway, if you wanted."

"No, thanks." She leaned forward, laying a hand lightly on his arm, "Listen, you seem like a pretty good kid, but you also seem way too young to be in here, so if I were you, I'd go back to your table and get the guy you were with to take you home before you get in over your head, okay?"

His cheeks and ears had to be bright red, but he managed to duck his head and mumble, "Okay," before he turned around and shuffled back to the table to sit down. "She, uh, she has to be somewhere early tomorrow," he mumbled, well aware that it was a lie, but hoping that, just this once, Dean wouldn't call him on it.

Dean didn't quite understand - after all, he'd thought it looked like it was going well, and when the chick leaned over to put her hand on Sammy's arm, he figured the deal was as good as closed, but then Sam came back and his ears were bright red, like they were after Dad had gotten on him for something. He wondered what she'd said, but Sam had asked him to drop it, and since it was his birthday, Dean decided he'd give him this one, just this once. Instead, he stopped their waitress when she went by, and asked her to bring them a round of tequila shots. "And another bottle for the birthday boy, here."

She looked like she wanted to argue, but after a twenty changed hands, she nodded and went to get the drinks, leaving Dean to wander over to the jukebox and put some decent music on, for a change. He made it back to the table by the time the drinks arrived, just in time to pluck the shot glass out of Sam's hand and down its contents. Sam started to protest, but Dean shoved the fresh bottle of beer at him, and started up a round of 'hey, remember the time we nearly got our asses chewed by X monster', which had staved off more than one fight between Sam and Dad.

It was still a good distraction, and they spent another hour trading stories and dirty jokes, and after another two beers, Sam's jovial, easy mood was back. "I really, really like beer," he told Dean, slinging an arm around his brother's shoulder. "Can I have a shot of that gold stuff you're drinkin'? I bet I'd like that, too."

Dean laughed and gave him a gentle shove back into his chair. "I bet you would too, Sammy, but forget it. Tequila's not for beginners like you."

"I'm not a beginner," Sam protested, pouting at him. The pout, combined with the big puppy eyes, usually got him whatever he wanted, but tonight Dean only shook his head and tapped the tip of his nose with one finger.

"Forget it, Sammy. Dad would kill me if he found out I let you have the hard stuff before you were 18, and you know it."

The waitress came by to clear away the empties, but unlike her previous passes, she didn't bring any fresh ones. "You and your... friend might wanna think about calling it a night, don'tcha think?" she asked, glancing at Sam, who was laying his head on Dean's shoulder and mumbling something about beer and bedrooms. When Dean just stared at her, she sighed and shook her head, wondering why the pretty ones were always dumb - and gay, to boot. "Look," she murmured in a lower tone. "I don't care about you guys being here, but some of these guys can get kinda mean, especially when they've had a few too many. Just go on home, okay?"

"Okay," he muttered, then turned to the task of hauling Sam out of his chair without either of them falling in the process. It wasn't as easy as it might have been a year ago - Sam was getting too damn tall to manhandle the way he used to, but somehow, Dean got his arm wrapped around Sam's waist, with one of Sam's over his shoulder. "Come on, kiddo. Time to go home."

Sam laughed as Dean steered him towards the door. "Beer's good," he told him. "We should have beer more often."

"Yeah, we will. But just so we're clear, you barf on me and you're never drinking again," he threatened.

They were nearly to the door when he heard a low voice hiss, "Fuckin' faggots," and while Dean wanted to stop right there and beat the homophobic asshole who'd said that to a bloody pulp, he knew there were more important things to worry about - getting Sam back to the apartment and into bed before he keeled over first among them. He set his jaw and ignored them, concentrating on coaxing Sam into putting one foot in front of the other instead.

Sam wasn't too clear on how they'd gotten home, but when Dean led him through the door and shoved him towards the bed, he managed to fall onto the mattress instead of the floor. The world spun crazily as he flopped back and he laughed, loving the wide swing of ceiling and walls around him. "Can we do this every night?" he asked, turning sparkling eyes towards his brother. "Just you and me, for the rest of our lives?"

Dean shook his head and sighed, then went to sit on the bed beside Sam. "Yeah, sure we can, Sammy. But you're gonna have to learn to hold your liquor a lot better."

"You can help me with that." Sam grinned up at him, wondering how he'd gotten lucky enough to have a cool older brother who showed him how to drink and do all sorts of great stuff. Dean kicked off his shoes and pushed them under the bed, and Sam tried to do the same, but his shoes didn't want to come off of his feet, so he just ended up kicking one foot against the other.

Dean watched his brother wrestle with first shoes and then shirt, only managing to get one arm free before he got tangled in the fabric, and he couldn't help laughing. There was something about his fumblings that was adorable, like watching a puppy tussle with a blanket. Reaching out, he stopped him and stripped his shirt and shoes off, dropping both in a heap beside the bed. "Dude, I am never letting you get drunk again," he muttered, pulling him to his feet so he could get his jeans open and shove them down.

Once he was down to his boxers, Dean gave him a gentle shove that landed him back on the bed again, then took advantage of his freedom to strip his own clothes off as well. Sam tucked an arm behind his head and watched Dean undress, scrambling up to slide under the covers when Dean pulled them back. Dean smoothed them over him and then turned to leave, but Sam's hand shot out to grab his wrist. "Don't go," he mumbled, tugging him down onto the bed and wrapping his arms around him. "Want you to stay with me."

Dean knew better than to fight, so he just sighed and pulled free long enough to get under the covers with Sam. "I'll stay," he told him, and was rewarded with a sudden hug and Sam's face pressing into the back of his neck.

They hadn't slept in the same bed in years, not since Dean was 12 and suddenly started getting rabid about having his own place to sleep and time alone in the bathroom. Sam had been hurt at what he'd seen as his brother's rejection, and while Dad had tried to explain it, he hadn't really understood until he was 12 himself, and his body started doing all sorts of things he didn't want to share with anybody else. But it felt good now, holding Dean, curling up against his back and drifting off to sleep like this, warm and safe, knowing that Dean would take care of him, no matter what happened. Sam nuzzled Dean's neck, knowing that if he was a cat, he'd be purring by now. It was a feeling he didn't ever want to lose. "Promise," he demanded.

He patted the arm that had snaked around his middle, deciding not to push him away just yet. Sammy would turn out to be one of those touchy-feely drunks. "Yeah, I promise." It was an easy promise to make - he looked after Sam, always had and always would. Just like the sun rising in the morning, it was a fact of his life, and he didn't see how that could ever change.


	2. Chapter 2

Dean didn't remember falling asleep, but a movement behind him and a muffled moan in his ear woke him up. Probably another one of Sam's nightmares. He started to move away, only to be held back by Sam's tight grip on his waist. "Sam, it's just a bad dream," he sighed wearily. "Go back to sleep."

Sam shifted behind him, and Dean seriously thought about giving him a good kick until he was hauled back hard against the unmistakable shape of Sam's erection. His brother's erection. He was instantly awake, lying as still as possible to avoid waking him up. Unfortunately, that didn't seem to help, because Sam sighed and started kissing the back of his neck, while one hand slid up his stomach, petting him like he was some kind of cat or something. He tried to concentrate on his breathing, focus on the rise and fall of his chest instead of the growing arousal that was making quite a tent in his underwear. Somewhere in the back of his mind, through the groggy haze of sleep and intoxication, he knew this was wrong, but he couldn't stop it - not yet, not when it felt so good to be held like this.

He wondered if Sam even knew what he was doing, or if this was just some kind of really vivid erotic dream for him. When he felt Sam shift behind him and start slowly humping against him, he couldn't stay still any longer. He told himself he was trying to pull away, that he didn't mean to push back against him, but when Sam moaned in his ear again, he bit back an answering sound of his own. He was close, so close to giving in and just letting it happen, but he forced himself to turn around, then gasped when the movement brought him even closer to Sam's erection. "Sam... you gotta wake up."

Somewhere in the back of his head, Sam knew he was dreaming, knew the kisses he scattered over soft, freckled skin weren't real, but it didn't seem to matter. Not when he was as hard as a rock, adrift in a sea of pleasure that had taken over his world. Sam pressed his erection more firmly against the body next to his, moaning at the delicious friction that made his aching dick throb. Hands reached out to pull him down against acres of warm skin and firm muscle, all of it writhing beneath him in the very best of ways, and he knew he didn't ever want to get free.

A distant voice called to him, trying to tear him away, but he wasn't going easily. Without thinking, Sam turned his head, blindly seeking the source of the sound. It vanished, but Sam barely noticed, too lost in the entirely new world that had just opened up to him. Something brushed against his lips, and he opened his mouth, moaning when slick heat invaded, rubbing against him a way that set all his nerves on fire. He was so hard, harder than he'd ever been before in his life, and he couldn't hold still, had to work himself against the equally hard length that was pressed against him, rocking and thrusting, anything to ease the aching need that was currently tearing him apart.

Oh, God. Sam had moved from petting him to full-out kissing and humping him, and the situation was quickly getting out control, since the longer it continued, the harder it got to stop. By the time Sam paused to breathe, Dean was panting and openly grinding against him, utterly lost in need. He heard Sam gasp, and it sounded like his name, and he couldn't keep himself from slipping his hand down to press against the hard lump in his brother's boxers. It felt strange, touching a dick that wasn't his, but he could feel the damp cloth against his hand, along with the heat underneath it, and he didn't ever want to stop.

Sam moaned and thrust up against his hand, and Dean hoped he was awake, because there was no way he could back off now. He closed his fingers around him, squeezing and gripping him tight while he thrust against him in return, riding the jut of his hip bone. When Sam suddenly stiffened against him, Dean thought he might be about to come, but instead he gasped, "Dean..."

"Yeah," he muttered, rocking his hand against him, picking up speed as he fought the urge to just rut against his brother like a dog in heat.

"Dean?" The befuddled sound of Sam's voice penetrated his sensual haze, and he knew that if Sammy hadn't been awake before, he certainly was now. This was the point at which he should probably pull back and reassess, but Sam arched up again, pushing into his palm, and Dean couldn't do anything except growl, "Shut up," and kiss him again, tearing his hand away long enough to slip it inside Sam's underwear, hungry for the slip-slide of hot skin under his fingers.

Sam was still trying to fight off sleep long enough to figure out what was going on when Dean's hand delved into his boxers and closed around his dick. The brush of calloused fingers as they swept over sensitive skin was soon followed by a firm grip, thoroughly frying Sam's last brain cell. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew that this was sick, it was wrong, Dean was his brother, for Chrissake, but when he smoothed a thumb over the leaking tip of Sam's dick, he forgot everything except the pleasure that sizzled up his spine. He groaned and thrust up into his fist, gasping when Dean squeezed him again in response. "Dean... God, Dean..."

"Yeah," he breathed in response. "Yeah, Sam..." He was going straight to hell for this, but the need in Sam's voice echoed his own growing desperation, and he buried his face in Sam's neck as he began to stroke him faster, falling into a familiar rhythm. But this was nothing like those times that he'd gotten himself off - it was a thousand times hotter, especially when he shifted and rocked his own straining dick harder against Sam.

It wasn't enough, though. He needed more, and thankfully Sam didn't argue when he rolled him over, pushing him onto his back until he was laid out against the bed. Dean stripped the covers back, staring down at the hard thrust of Sam's dick and the movement of his hand inside the boxers. He drew in a harsh breath and tugged at the fabric, pulling it down, trying to take it off without having to release his newfound prize. Finally, he succeeded, and hot flesh sprang free, allowing him to really look and see the stretch of flesh over the hard shaft, the drops of precome that welled up when he pressed his thumb just below the head and squeezed. "Fuck, Sam," he whispered.

"Dean," Sam choked out. "Dean, I want... please..."

"I know," he soothed him, helping the eager hands that reached for him shove his own boxer briefs down. It was a relief to be free, especially when Sam's hand clutched his hip and pulled him down, and he bucked up to meet him with a strangled moan that shot right to Dean's dick. He wriggled his hand out from between them, reluctantly releasing Sam so he could press completely against him. Hard flesh met hard flesh, and both brothers groaned, tortured sounds of need and pleasure that neither even attempted to hold back.

"God, Dean, that - ohhhh, fuck..." The words vanished into Dean's mouth as it descended on Sam's, tongue delving in to mimic the clumsy thrust of their hips, echoing the slick slide of their shafts as they rubbed against each other. Sam could feel his balls drawing tight, but for the first time in his life, he didn't want to come; this was too good to have it end just yet. He could hardly believe this was actually happening, that they were really moving together, panting and gasping, getting closer to climax with every thrust.

Hands slid into his hair, pulling almost painfully tight, and he realized that Dean was getting close too. He could feel his brother's dick, sticky and wet, sliding over his own, stoking the fire that seemed to have taken up residence inside him higher and higher, feel the muscles in Dean's thighs bunch as he moved, and then he was coming and coming, his dick twitching as he shot, coating both their stomachs with his release. It wasn't anything like when he jerked off, so much more intense than he'd ever thought it could be, and he got it now, he really did. He could see why Dean chased all those girls, if this was how he felt when he was in bed with them. Closing his mouth around Dean's tongue, he sucked on it, hips still working against his brother's.

Dean was spinning out of control, lost to logical thought or morality or anything except the arousal that was setting his bones on fire. He'd never been this turned on before, never felt this desperately needy, and somehow it seemed right that it was Sam doing this to him. Restraint had long since fallen by the wayside, leaving room only for a struggle to hold off and try not to come embarrassingly fast. A struggle that was lost as soon as the warm, sticky jets of Sam's release splashed onto his belly.

He groaned into his brother's mouth, balls drawing almost painfully tight before he came harder than he ever had before, wrenching spurts that left him panting and dazed in the aftermath of a dizzying orgasm. Resting his forehead against Sam's, Dean let his eyes drift shut, savoring the moment, the closeness and the heat and the lax satisfaction that slowly spread through his body. He dimly felt Sam shift under him, kicking off his underwear, and he followed suit, shivering when his brother nuzzled his neck again as they both drifted back to sleep. They were going to be sticky and disgusting in the morning, but Dean found himself too tired and content just then to care. Morning could deal with itself.


	3. Chapter 3

Sam had always hated mornings, always hated waking up, but he fought especially hard against it when he became aware of the pain pounding in his temples. It felt like bombs were being set off inside his skull, and when he cracked his eyes open, light seared his retinas, making him immediately slam them shut again. Jesus, was every morning after a night out like this? No wonder people said alcohol was evil! The mattress beneath him moved, and Sam had a split second to realize that it was Dean shifting on the bed beside him before his stomach roiled up into his throat. He shot off the bed, streaking for the bathroom, his only thought a desperate prayer that he'd be able to make it in time. Thankfully, the gods were kind, and he succeeded, but only barely, falling to his knees before the toilet just before everything he'd had to drink the night before came spewing out in gut wrenching heaves that shook his whole body.

Dean bolted upright when the bed rocked under him, his hand shooting out to the side, reaching for a weapon that wasn't there before he realized that he wasn't being attacked - unless a hangover counted. He rubbed one hand over his face, wincing as his head pounded, protesting the tequila and the lack of both sleep and coffee. He didn't have to guess where Sam was, not when he could hear him retching through the walls. Despite his own aching head, Dean chuckled, remembering how he'd spent time with the porcelain gods after his own first night out.

He slid out of bed and trudged over to the window to yank the curtains closed. The darkness helped his headache a little, at least enough to allow him to start thinking about other things. He paused long enough to pull his discarded boxer briefs back on, then headed down the hallway to the bathroom, pushing the door open without bothering to knock. Sure enough, Sam was kneeling in front of the toilet, the rank stench of vomit heavy in the air. Dean grimaced and leaned over his shoulder to flush, then turned to grab a washcloth and wet it at the sink. "Probably should've warned you - beer's not nearly as good coming up as it is going down," he commented, laying a gentle hand on his brother's clammy shoulder.

He was leaning his head against the toilet bowl when a hand descended on his shoulder, warm and tender and - oh, God. Dean. He'd... and they'd... With _Dean!_ With his _brother!_ A shudder ripped through him and then he was throwing up again, retching in hopeless spasms even though there was nothing left to bring up. "Go away," he managed weakly, before his gut seized up and he retched again.

Dean stilled behind him, the disgust he could hear in Sam's voice freezing him in his tracks. "Yeah," he finally said, dropping the washcloth on the floor as he turned to leave, closing the bathroom door carefully behind him. He headed into the kitchen to clean up as best he could and start the coffee brewing, grateful for once that Dad was gone on a hunt. If he was lucky, he'd never find out what had happened, never discover that Dean had betrayed the trust he placed in him with the corruption of his little brother.

He didn't know what he'd thought would happen, but he should've expected this. It wasn't like he could wake up and pull Sammy down for round two, after all. And okay, so this wasn't exactly normal behavior for brothers, but then, their family had never been normal. The burble of the coffeepot pulled him out of his thoughts, and Dean poured himself a cup, then fished a few ibuprofen out of the ever-present bottle on the counter, chasing them down with a healthy swallow of coffee. Ordinarily, he would've poured a cup for Sam as well, added milk and sugar, and carried it down to him to wake him up, but he doubted he'd appreciate it today.

The coffee and pills helped ease the headache and restore a small sense of normalcy, something he could definitely use. Once he was done, Dean wandered back to his bedroom, relieved to hear a distinct lack of vomiting from the bathroom. He considered knocking and seeing if there was anything Sam needed, but after having been ordered out earlier, he figured he probably wasn't welcome, so he settled on ducking into Sam's room to collect his laundry instead.

Chores had always been one of the ways the Winchesters communicated, from apologies tendered via freshly washed clothes to concern and love expressed through newly sharpened knives or preparations of favorite food, although Dean wasn't sure what category this would fall into. Apology and concern combined, he guessed, with maybe a little love thrown in as well. He gathered his own clothes as well, scribbled a quick note to let Sam know where he'd gone, and tucked it under an empty mug, which he left beside the coffeepot. A quick check of the salt lines to make sure they were still intact (and a brief fit of cursing himself when he realized he'd forgotten to do that last night, too drunk and concerned about Sam to think about it), and he headed out to the laundromat, wincing under the assault of the sun until he was able to get to the Impala and the sunglasses he had stashed there.

Long after the sickness abated, Sam knelt on the bathroom floor, too weak to do more than flush the toilet and pray to die. It was what he deserved, doing... _that_ with his brother. Eventually he managed to haul himself into the shower, where he washed away the evidence of his sins, although he doubted he'd ever be able to feel really clean again. The hot water revived him somewhat, or at least left him able to stand and feel like maybe he could face the day, even if he couldn't face Dean. He waited until he heard the front door open and shut before he came out to get his clothes, carefully looking everywhere but at the bed he'd slept in last night. He was dressed by the time Dean returned with the clean laundry, and for the first time ever, he hoped that Dad would call and need Dean's help on a hunt. When the phone refused to ring, he settled on retreating to his room, using his hangover as an excuse for missing dinner. Thankfully, Dean seemed to recognize his need for solitude, because he left him largely alone, only checking on him a few times throughout the night. Oddly enough, his brother's solicitude made him feel even worse; he could've handled it if Dean hadn't seemed so worried about him, especially when he knew how much he really didn't deserve that kind of concern.

The remainder of the undeniably awkward weekend dragged slowly on, full of stilted conversations and loaded silences, and it was a relief when Sam got to escape to school on Monday morning. He was called into the guidance counselor's office yet again to talk about his 'plans for the future' and this time, when she brought up the idea of college and started talking about scholarships and financial aid, Sam didn't immediately shoot her down like he had all the others.


	4. Chapter 4

After the fight with Dad, Sam hadn't bothered even trying to talk to Dean. He'd shoved his clothes in a duffel bag and gotten a ticket on the next bus out of town. Why was it so wrong for him to want something different than hunting? Why couldn't they just accept that he wasn't like them and he didn't want the life they lived, and let him go? He climbed on the bus just outside of Toledo, telling himself that he was completely on his own now, just the way Dad had said he'd be. So it was a pretty big shock to see the Impala waiting for him when he stepped off the bus for a changeover in Denver. Sam adjusted his bag, blinking to make sure he wasn't hallucinating, then walked over to tap on the driver's side window. It slid down immediately, and a familiar grin greeted him. "Dean?"

"What? You thought I was gonna just let you run off like that, without even saying good-bye?" he teased. "You should know me better than that, Sammy." He'd been preparing for this for a while now, had known that Sam was leaving even before he got into it with Dad, but Dean wasn't ready to let him go yet. Not like that, anyways, running off in the middle of the night without giving him a chance to spend a little more time with him.

"I'm not going back," Sam said flatly. He tried to ignore how good it felt to see his brother again, even if it had only been a few days since he'd left.

"Hey, I get it, okay? But the bus isn't the way to go, dude - least you can do is let me drive you."

The offer caught him off-guard, taking all of the wind out of his sails, and he gaped at him instead. "Really? You - you're not gonna try to take me back?"

Dean shrugged. "I could kick your ass and take you back, but we both know you'll just run away again." He glanced over at the empty passenger seat, trying not to think about the last time Sam had run away. At least this time he hadn't bothered to cover his tracks, so he'd been easy to find, and if he hadn't caught up with him here, he'd have found him at Stanford. But since he'd caught him now, and with his offer to drive him out to California... if he had his way, Sam would be ditching this whole college idea and coming back with him by the end of the trip. "So, whaddaya say? You gonna let me take you to school in style?"

He weighed his options for a second before deciding that, at most, he stood to lose a few days if Dean tried to double-cross him. "Yeah, okay." Walking around the car, he yanked the passenger door open, slung his bag into the back, and settled into the seat. "Does, uh, does Dad know you're here?" Not that he really cared one way or the other, he told himself, but he couldn't help hoping that maybe somehow Dean was here with their father's blessing.

Dean folded up the map he'd been looking at while he waited and tossed it onto the dashboard, twisting the key in the ignition to bring the engine roaring to life. "Not a chance," he told him. He hadn't bothered to say anything, well aware that telling Dad he was going after Sam would be a good way to get his ass handed to him. Dad had made it clear that Sam had made his bed, and he needed to lie in it.

"Oh." Sam told himself that he wasn't disappointed, that he was relieved to find his father wasn't trying to drag him back to that life. Dean flipped the radio on and Sam winced as the raucous strains of 'Dr Feelgood' assaulted his ears. He reached for the volume knob, well aware that if he tried to turn it off he'd just be inviting a fight. "So, how long do you figure it'll take?"

"A few days," he said softly, as they pulled out of the bus station parking lot. He planned on taking his time, maybe even getting lost once or twice - not that he thought he could keep Sam away from Stanford like that, but he wanted to draw it out a little and enjoy the trip. It was the last time they'd get to spend together for a very long time - maybe forever, if he couldn't talk him out of it. And he had to talk him out of it, cause there was no way Dean was spending the rest of his life without his brother.

They spent the next week making their way west - a meandering, wandering way, but one that took them ever closer to California, to the coast and the ocean... and Stanford. It felt good to just drive without worrying about the hunt that was waiting or how many people might die before they got there, and if it hadn't been for the knowledge of where they were headed, Dean would've been in heaven. He had music, the road, and best of all, he had Sammy. But try as he might, there were only so many tourist traps around, and eventually they pulled into the parking lot at Stanford.

Sam's face lit up at the sight of the administration building. "I'll be right back," he promised, practically vibrating with excitement as he slid out of the car and headed for the main entrance.

"Yeah, right back," Dean said softly, trying not to think about how long it would be before those words no longer applied. He wished he'd never come after him, or at least that he'd never offered to drive him out here. But it was too late for regrets right now; he'd gambled and lost, and now it was time to pay the piper.

Sam was grinning from ear to ear when he came out of the building. He held a sheaf up papers up so Dean could see and announced, "Well, it's official. I'm a college student now."

"Yeah, well, where are we headed now, college boy?"

He rummaged through the packet of papers until he pulled out his dorm assignment. "Let's see... I'm in Stern Hall, room 206, and.... wow, I guess I can move in tonight." He was a little surprised to see that the room was available right away, but then he guessed he should've expected it. After all, most of the students that came here expected to jump right in to college life, didn't they? It was what he'd wanted, being like everybody else.

"Tonight, huh?" Dean swallowed hard and got out of the car, heading around to open the trunk and get Sam's bag out. For a second he held on to it, fingers tightening on the straps, before he forced himself to hand it over with a smile that felt anything but genuine.

Sam reached out to take the duffel from Dean, telling himself he should be glad to have the time to get set up. "So, uh... guess this is it, huh?"

"Yeah, I guess so..." He couldn't let it end like this, with a few words before they walked away from each other. Dean didn't want to leave Sam like this. Well, actually he didn't want to leave him, period. Ever. But since he doubted Sam would appreciate him shoving him in the car and taking him back with him, he decided to try for the next best thing. "Hey, you know, I could stick around for a few days, help you settle in, if you want," he offered.

Now that he was faced with the prospect of losing his brother, Sam wondered if it was too late to beg Dean to consider hanging around for the next four years or so. As soon as the thought occurred to him, he dismissed it as stupid. Dean would probably call him a pussy and mock him endlessly for it - after he'd finished laughing his head off, that was. He did his best to sound casual when he shrugged and said, "Yeah, that'd be kinda cool, if you didn't have anything else to do. You, uh, you wanna take a look at my dorm, see what it's like?"

"Sure. Not like I'm ever gonna go to college, so it's probably the only chance I'll get to see one." He'd never been one for school, not like Sam, who'd always treated every single paper like it was the most important one he'd ever write. But he didn't mind seeing what the whole college experience was like, and maybe he could still talk Sam into going back with him.

Dean was glad he'd agreed when Sam smiled, his grin like the sun bursting through the clouds. "Great!" He slung his backpack over his shoulder, while Dean picked up his duffel bag. "Let's go figure out where I'm gonna be, then!"

Locating the dorm proved to be easier said than done. Forty-five minutes later, they finally figured out that Stern Hall was actually broken up into several dorms, and Sam was in Donner. He grinned at Dean as they headed upstairs to his room, but the smile faded when he heard distinctly feminine shrieks and giggles down the hall. "They never said anything about coed dorms," he protested.

Dean chuckled and followed Sam up the stairs, taking a peek down the hall. "Well, at least you know you'll have some sweet college tail right down the hall," he teased him with a grin.

"Yeah, I guess," Sam muttered, the tips of his ears turning red as he thought about trying to live with that many girls.

He fumbled for his key and unlocked the door, pushing it open with his foot, then stepped aside to let Dean go in first, just like he always had. Dean nodded approvingly at him and walked into the room, looking around at the two beds and desks. "So are you gonna have a roommate?"

"Yeah, but it doesn't look like he's here yet." Stepping into the room, Sam slung his backpack down at the foot of one of the long beds, then turned to grin at Dean. "What do you think?"

Dean looked around the room, trying to keep his thoughts from showing on his face. "It's... kinda plain," he ventured. The truth was, after a lifetime spent in cheap apartments and crappy motel rooms, Sam's dorm room seemed to combine the worst of both, with the small space and complete lack of privacy of a motel room, and the stark white walls and bare furniture of an efficiency apartment. Dean knew Sam didn't like it, but he actually enjoyed the cheesy style and psychedelic wallpaper of some of the motels, and this? Was boring.

Which meant, of course, Sam loved it. Dean watched him run a hand over the desk and built-in bookcases, then sit down on the bed and bounce a little, testing the mattress out, his grin growing by the second until it was a bright, beaming smile. "It's perfect," he breathed. He reached out to grab Dean's wrist, tugging him down onto the bed beside him. "Just think about it, Dean - a bed that _hasn't_ been slept in by a hundred people over the last two months!"

"Kinda hard," he pointed out, pushing one hand down on the thin mattress.

Sam didn't seem to hear him. "Maybe, but it's mine. And I'm the only one that's gonna sleep on it all year. How many beds can you say that about?"

None, but that didn't bother Dean as much as it did Sam. He looked over at him, really looked at him, seeing the open joy that shone from him like sunlight. "You're really into all this, aren't you? Not just the bed, but the dorm room and the whole college thing."

"Yeah, I am. I mean, don't get me wrong, it's gonna suck not having you around, but the chance to go to college and learn and do something with my life besides hunting... it's what I've dreamed about for years, Dean." Sam turned to look at his brother, his eyes alight with pleasure and excitement. "I can finally be normal - no werewolves or moving around all the time or worrying about which name goes with which ID this week."

Normal. Dean looked down at his hands as he thought about that word. He'd never be normal, never have a normal life, but then, he'd never wanted it. Not for himself, anyway. As long as he could remember, he'd wanted Sammy to have better, and that was why he'd constantly tried to get him to stop asking questions, tried to keep him innocent, tried to protect him, all so he could have the normal life he wanted so badly. Now it was time to let him go, let him have it, and Dean was discovering that while he wanted Sam to be happy, his heart was a lot more selfish than he'd thought it was. "And this makes you happy?"

He nodded. "It does. It really, really does." But there was no way a blind man wouldn't have seen the pain and the worry in Dean's eyes, and he knew Sam saw it when his smile dimmed a little. "But just because I'm doing this... you know I don't want you just leaving, right? I mean, I know Dad's not gonna talk to me anymore but -"

Dean nodded, and Sam's hand shot out to grab his. "Yeah, I know. And give Dad a chance. He's pretty mad right now, but I'm sure he'll come around eventually." He leaned forward to lay his free hand on Sam's shoulder, and gave it a gentle squeeze. "Now... how's about we cancel this pity party and go check out some of the local hangouts, huh? Should get to know the place if you're gonna be staying here."

Sam's smile was only partially forced, but he gripped Dean's hand a little tighter before he let go. "Sounds good, but no hustling, okay? At least not this visit." He deftly avoided the expected jab to the gut as he got up and started for the door, Dean following close behind.

They drove around until they found a bar that looked promising. It was close enough that they could've walked, but Sam knew better than to mention that; Dean never missed a chance to show off his baby, and sure enough, the Impala drew several admiring looks as they pulled up. Sam left Dean to deal with the comments from the jocks that invariably wandered over to get a better look while he headed inside to find a table. Dean would come inside once he was ready. It was a dance they'd been doing for years, and they had it down to an art by now, as well choreographed as any ballet.

Sure enough, as soon as he'd sat down, Dean walked in, his gaze sweeping over the bar. Sam knew exactly what he was doing - looking the room over, taking the lay of it in, picking out exits and figuring out which were the best marks. He wasn't worried that he'd try to get a hustle going, not when Sam had asked him not to, but Dean had been taking college kids like these in one way or another since he was fifteen and old enough to sneak into a bar, and he doubted he even knew how to just walk in and relax. He took the seat across from Sam, which just happened to be the one that let him face the door, so he could keep track of everyone's comings and goings. "So you wanna tell me why you're so dead set against me getting a game going?"

"Well, for one thing, I plan on coming back here, so hustling's not exactly a good idea," Sam told him. He raised a hand to wave the waitress over, then froze as he remembered one of the things he'd left behind as part of starting his new life: his fake IDs. The only thing he had on him was the driver's license Dean had insisted he get, and it had his real birthdate on it. "Uh, Dean? Little help here?"

Dean chuckled, briefly considering telling Sam to just suck it up and deal. If he wanted to be normal so badly, then he'd better get used to making do with soda, but in the end, he knew he couldn't leave his brother hanging. "Two beers," he told the waitress. "And two cheeseburgers with fries. We're celebrating."

"I'll need to see some ID," she told them, glancing first at Sam, who patted himself down, then gave her a sheepish grin. "Sorry, I forgot it."

She gave him a bored look that said more plainly than words that she wasn't buying it. "Sorry kid - no ID, no drinks." She turned to Dean, one eyebrow rising as she looked him over. "You got ID, or did you forget it, too?"

"Oh I have ID sweetheart," Dean told her, fishing it out of his wallet and handing it over. "Hey, uh... you think you could cut the kid here some slack?"

She looked at his ID, then glanced over at Sam, who gave her his best sweet and harmless grin. "Boss finds out and I get fired," she said, but Dean's famous flirtatious smile made her hesitate, then offer, "You know, we're kinda busy tonight, what with all the freshies trying to score beer, so why don't I just bring you your first two beers at the same time?"

Dean nodded and flashed her the seductive grin that had never failed to get him what he wanted. "That sounds like a good idea, sweetheart. And rest assured, we won't say a word." He tucked his wallet back into his pocket as she walked away, and waited until he was sure she was out of earshot before he looked over at Sam. "Gotta show ID to get a beer? Dude, this joint blows."

He received a scowl in return that made him chuckle. "They're probably just being extra careful because it's the start of the year," Sam muttered. "They'll relax later." Or at least, he hoped they would. He really didn't want to have to get another fake ID, especially since he couldn't go to any of his father's usual suppliers, which meant he'd be saddled with whatever talent was available on campus, and he'd have to hope they did a decent job and didn't charge too much.

Dean just laughed in return. "Yeah, you better hope so, Sparky, cause otherwise it looks like you're gonna have to wait until you're 21, just like all the other kids around here. After all, can't go flashing fake IDs anymore, can you?"

Sam sulked until the waitress returned with their burgers and beers, both of which she set down in front of Dean. Thankfully, Dean decided not to be a dick about it, although Sam was well aware that he could've made him beg, but instead he just slid it over after she left. They ate in relative silence, and Sam glanced over at the pool tables once they were done, but he knew better than to even suggest a game if he didn't want Dean hustling most of his soon-to-be classmates out of their money. "So... you wanna stay in the dorm tonight, get a taste of college life?" he asked, tossing a twenty on the table as they stood up to leave. "Who knows, you might decide you like it."

Dean's eyebrows rose, and for a second, Sam thought he was going to laugh him out of the bar. Instead, he shrugged and asked, "Why the hell not? Although I wouldn't get your hopes up about me loving it. Not really my kind of digs, you know?"

He knew better than to expect Dean to be as gung-ho about college as he was, but he couldn't resist tempting him, just a little. "You sure? Cause we could probably still switch things around and get you assigned as my roommate."

"Not really the college type, Sammy." Dean had been happy to get out of school with his GED - college had never even been on his radar. Textbooks and lectures couldn't teach him the things he needed to know, like how to make silver bullets, which protection symbols would keep him safe from dreamwalkers, or how to recognize and help a succubus' victim without falling prey to the demon himself.

Sam waited until they were in the car headed back to campus before he pressed it further. "Have you thought about what you're gonna do without... I mean, while I'm here?"

"Hunt," he replied. "Save people, be the big hero... you know, the usual." It was what he knew, and really, all he was cut out for. He had to keep at it, even if Sam didn't want to do it with him anymore.

"That's not what I'm talking about and you know it. I mean, what do you want to do? C'mon, Dean, you don't wanna be a hunter for the rest of your life, do you?" He tried not to think about exactly how short that life was likely to be, or how bloody and painful the ending would be. He didn't like to think about that, about Dean getting hurt without him there to patch him up, or worse.

Dean pulled into the parking lot, automatically going through the motions of putting the car in park and turning it off before he answered. "Look, Sammy, I'm not like you. This whole school gig, it's not me, and you know it. I know what I'm good at, even if you've forgotten." He saw Sam wince at the recrimination, but he didn't take it back. It was time he was completely honest with him - way past time, actually. "I'm a hunter, Sam. It's all I've ever wanted to be, since I was just a kid. You always wanted more - you have brains, and I'm glad you're getting to use 'em, but I'm better off on the road." After everything he'd seen, there was no way Dean would be able to live a normal life, and he'd learned to be content with that. He just wished he could make Sam see that.

Sam's face fell despite his attempt to keep smiling. "Yeah," he mumbled. "Yeah, I get it." They walked back up to the dorm in silence, and Sam paused at the door to his room. "Listen, you don't really have to stay if you don't want to. I'll be fine on my own. I'm a big boy now, remember?"

Something hard and icy formed in Dean's eyes, and he nodded shortly. "Fine, then." He waited until Sam unlocked his door before he added, "You know, if you didn't want me to stay, all you had to do was say so." He turned to go, anger written in every line of his body, and Sam knew if he left now, like this, years would go by before they talked again - if they ever did.

He should let him go. Just close the door so he didn't have to watch Dean walk away, walk out of his life forever, but... Sam's hand shot out before he thought about it, closing on Dean's jacket hard enough that his fingernails dug into the leather. A strangled cry, equal parts denial and grief, escaped before he yanked Dean forward and dragged him into the dorm room. Somehow his mouth came crashing down on Dean's, whether to keep him from saying good-bye or asking him to go with him, he didn't know, but then they were kissing, tongues battling, and it was every bit as good as he remembered. No... better, because this time he was awake enough to take it all in, to feel Dean's hand slide into his hair to hold him still when he started to kiss him back.


	5. Chapter 5

Dean stumbled across the threshold, too wrapped up in the hard press of Sam's mouth against his to do more than cling to him. He wasn't exactly sure when Sam had gotten taller than him, but he wasn't about to complain, not when it meant that he could reach out to slam the door closed behind them without having to stop kissing him first. He'd all but given up on ever having this again, and he didn't even try to stop himself from turning Sam around and shoving him up against the door, holding him with hands and body and mouth.

His head thumped back against the door, but Sam didn't notice, too lost in the heat and the feel of Dean's tongue sliding against his, wet and slick, mimicking an entirely different kind of slide, one that was making him hard already. And Dean was hard, too - he could feel it through his clothes as he pressed up against him. Sam gasped for air as Dean began to make his way down his jaw to his neck, groaning against his skin, the vibration sending a shiver down his spine. "Dean," he moaned, "God, Dean, we gotta... We gotta stop."

"Why?" Dean mumbled, kissing his way back up to Sam's mouth. "Don't wanna stop... feels too good."

"Yeah," he breathed, before he jerked away, banging his head on door again, hard enough that he saw stars. "I mean - no! What the fuck - Dean, we're _brothers!_ We can't just..." He shoved Dean back and held a hand out to keep him from coming any closer.

Dean gaped at him. "What the hell? Dude, _you_ kissed _me!_ "

Sam could feel his ears burn at the reminder of what he'd just done. "We - we can't," he repeated, trying desperately not to think of a night that they had, when alcohol and teenage hormones had made it impossible to resist. "I-I wasn't thinking. I just... I wanted... I didn't mean -" But he had, and he knew it. He was the one that was wrong, not Dean. It was something in him, some dark impulse that drove him to seek out his brother's touch and his brother's kiss, something twisted that made him think of his brother's body against him. Dean was just... Dean. Hot and horny, and Sam couldn't fault him for that.

"Shhh," he hushed him, putting a finger over his lips. He moved closer, one leg sliding between Sam's. "Sam, it's okay. I want you so much, want you so bad, ever since that night." Dean curled his fingers in his shirt, tugging him down until their foreheads met and they were staring into each other's eyes. "That night, Sammy... it was everything I wanted, and you - you wanted it too, didn't you?"

"I shouldn't," he choked out. "It's wrong."

"Why? What's wrong with it?" He grabbed Sam's hand and led it down to his crotch, pressing it against his erection. "Does that feel wrong? 'Cause I don't think I care if it does; I just care about you. Sammy..."

For a few seconds, they stood like that, foreheads pressed against each other, breathing in ragged gasps of shared air. Need and desire warred with what he'd always been taught was right, until finally Sam whispered, "I want you, too."

He flexed his hand, fingers splaying open, then curling around the hard length that pushed against his palm in response. Dean moaned, a low sound that made a sweet rush of desire uncurl deep in his stomach. He wanted to move this further, wanted to give Dean what he knew he needed, but he was unsure, clumsy and awkward in his own skin, and he breathed, "Dean..."

Just like always, Dean was there to answer him and help him out. He covered Sam's hand with his, thumb stroking the smooth skin of his brother's wrist as he molded his fingers around his cock, guiding him in a slow, rocking rhythm. Sam's world tilted on end, going topsy-turvey with the realization that he was actually doing this, touching his brother like this, but he clung to the knowledge that whatever else happened, Dean was right there with him, holding him up like he'd always done. "I-I don't... I've never -"

"I know. And we can take it slow, if you want," he replied, soothing him just like he had countless girls over the years. But this was different - it was Sam, and he gave a damn whether he said yes or no. "Or..." His hand moved to cup Sam's dick, thumb working over the head through his pants.

"Oh, God!" Sam gasped, his head thunking against the door as his hips arched up, pressing harder against Dean's hand, seeking more friction, more contact, just... more. Dean chuckled against his throat, leisurely working him with slow twists of his wrist that made Sam shudder and moan. "Dean... that's - ohhhh, Dean."

"You like that, don't you?" he asked, pressing harder into his hand, stroking him a little faster in return.

"God, yeah."

"Want it to be my mouth on you?"

"Yeah," Sam panted, "Yeah, Dean, please..." His hand closed tight around him, and Dean knew he needed to do something before they both lost it just like this. He kissed him again, deep and hot, the hunger for more building until he forced himself to back away, pulling Sam with him as he steered them both towards the tiny bed, one hand fisted in his brother's shirt, the other already starting to open his jeans.

His zipper slid down with a harsh rasp, and Dean's hand slid inside, curling around his dick, only the thin fabric of his underwear separating them. Sam moaned and thrust up against his hand, fumbling with Dean's jeans as well, but lust made his fingers clumsy. His mind was still too full of thoughts of Dean sucking him, licking him, of Dean's mouth on him, and he was overwhelmed, wanting to kiss and touch and feel everything, all at once. "Dean, I need... Help me, please."

After one more kiss, Dean pulled back and set to work, stripping his jacket and shirt off and tossing them to the floor, toeing his shoes off, then yanking his jeans open before he turned his attention back to Sam, almost tearing his shirt off. The second he was close enough, Sam struck, lunging forward to attack the line of his throat with teeth and tongue, sucking hungrily on his skin, tasting salt and sweat and _Dean._ He responded with a shiver and moan, and yanked Sam's jeans and boxers down in one swift move.

The instant Sam was naked, Dean was on him, hand curling around his dick as though magnetized, giving it a long stroke that made drops of precome well up on the tip. He brushed his thumb over it, moaning at the silky feel of wet skin, but it was Sam's hand slipping into his jeans, delving inside his underwear to copy him, that made his hips buck forward. Dean doubted Sam knew exactly how much he was turning him on, but he knew he had to get this under control now, or it was going to be over way too soon.

Pulling Sam's hand out of his jeans, Dean pinned it up above his head, ignoring Sam's whimper of protest when he abandoned his cock in favor of grabbing the other one as well. He stretched out above him and ground down against him, rubbing his aching dick against his brother's, looking down into eyes that were dark and wild with need. "Sam... God, Sam... what do you want, huh? Tell me."

"Dean," he gasped, "Want you. Please, Dean!" He was losing it, struggling against his grasp, but Dean held him firm. Sam had grown a lot over the past few years, topped him in height, but he didn't yet have the weight to break his hold, and Dean intended to use every advantage he had.

"Stay put," he commanded, giving him a hard kiss before he released his hands. Sam whimpered when he kissed his way down his neck, whined when he gently bit one nipple, and uttered a sound of pure need when Dean began to teasingly nibble and lick down his stomach. There was no doubt in either boy's mind of where this was headed, and Dean wanted it so much his mouth was watering, but he tried to hold back and take his time. It wasn't easy, not when Sam was squirming against the bed, hips making little thrusts up until Dean pressed them back into the mattress. He licked a line over each hip bone and looked up at Sam's face. "Tell me how much you want it."

"I want it," he begged hoarsely. "I want - oh, God, Dean!" He was staring down at Dean's mouth just inches away from his dick, wondering how it was he'd never noticed how full his lips were, like they were made for this, to suck him... Green eyes burned up at him as the slow, wet swipe of a tongue moved up his length, bringing a trail of burning fire with it. Sam knew he wasn't supposed to move, but he couldn't help it - he had to touch, had to... His hand dropped down to grip Dean's shoulder, then slip up into short dark hair just as Dean's mouth closed around him and sucked lightly, and that was it. He was gone, bucking up for more as he came in hot pulses of need and ecstasy, hoarsely chanting Dean's name like a prayer.

Dean drank him down in greedy gulps, then licked him clean and rose back up over him, a satisfied smirk settling on his lips. Sam welcomed him back with a hazy smile, eyes still clouded with the last traces of bliss before the sight of his brother's smirk sank in and he realized what had just happened. He'd just come like a thirteen-year-old, too worked up to hold back, all from one single lick and a brief suck. And Dean, being Dean, was never going to let him forget it, because he was Dean, and he'd never done anything even remotely like that and-

"Sam, calm down! Breathe!" He tried to obey, tried to fight the wild hitching of his chest as panic tried to swamp him, but he was losing the battle. A firm hand hauled him up so he was sitting, leaning against Dean, and a hard thwack between his shoulder blades drove the air out of his lungs. "Dammit, Sam, breathe!"

He sucked in air in a huge gulp that then led to coughing fit. Through it all, Dean's hand stayed steady on his back, rubbing calming circles into his spine until he was breathing normally again. Sam's cheeks were burning when he looked back at Dean, and it took several tries before he was able to speak. "I-I'm sorry."

"It's okay," Dean reassured him. "You wanna tell me what that was about, though?" He thought he might have an idea, given the fact that Sam was red right up to his hairline, but he wanted to be sure.

Sam fidgeted and looked down at his hands, then muttered, "Ididn'tmeantocomethatfast."

When Dean figured out what he'd said, he had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. Rubbing Sam's back with long, slow sweeps of his hand, he leaned towards him to nuzzle his neck. "Hey, don't worry about it." The slump of his brother's shoulders told him that the words weren't helping, so he eased Sam back onto the bed, following him down so that he was laying beside him. "Trust me, I'm not upset. I think it was hot, how much you liked it."

Sam gave him a look that said more clearly than words that he wasn't buying it. "Really?"

"Yeah. Trust me, I nearly lost it right along with you." When the look he got for that was even more skeptical, he took Sam's hand and brought it back to his crotch. He knew the minute Sam realized that the denim was damp from the way his eyes widened. "See? Told you," he moaned, thrusting up into Sam's hand.

Sam nodded and eased his hand inside his jeans, stroking him slowly through his underwear, thumb running over his head with every few strokes, rubbing wet cloth over sensitive skin in a way that was starting to drive him nuts. "Is that... is that good?"

Dean moaned and nodded. "Yeah... God, Sam, so good." He was quickly losing the ability to think beyond the need for more. He plunged one hand inside, leading Sam to tighten his grip, urging him to move faster as he started to hump up against him in return.

Sam glanced down at Dean, at the hand that he could see working him inside his jeans, and he licked his lips, wondering what it would be like to kiss his way down and... But he didn't dare, not when he knew it would be painfully obvious that he didn't have a clue what he was doing. Not now, anyways. Maybe if Dean stayed for a few days... maybe then he could get him to show him how. "Dean," he whispered, tightening his grip a little, stroking him faster.

He leaned down to kiss him, tasting a heavy, bitter muskiness on his tongue that he realized belatedly had to be his own come. Dean took the lead, and Sam followed, falling into the familiar pattern of their usual movements, just like when Dean had taught him to shoot and spar, and a thousand other things. Soon enough, he was watching Dean's eyes darken, felt his hips speeding up as he moved against him, and he knew he was close. "Come on, Dean," he urged. "Come for - come for me." The words were raw and sexual, and he felt his cheeks flush at the thought of saying them to his brother.

"Sam," Dean panted. "God, Sam, Sammy..." There was no way he could hold back when he heard Sam egging him on, not like that. He moaned, a low sound that echoed in the small room, and his hips bucked up against Sam's hand as he came, soaking both underwear and Sam's fingers.

Pleasure drifted lazily through him afterward, enough that he didn't mind the wet, sticky fabric or the fact that he'd have to do laundry a lot sooner than he'd planned. Instead, he just grinned dopily at his brother, laying lax beside him. "Sam," he said softly, love filling him up to the very top.

"Yeah?" Sam's stomach tightened, sure that Dean was going to tell him that he had to leave now. He swallowed hard, having to work to keep from begging him to stay, like he had on the first day of school.

Dean laughed. "Nothing, just... Sam." He pulled Sam down for a kiss as he eased his hand free and wiped it on the blanket.

A voice in the back of his mind whispered about sins, and brothers who weren't supposed to love each other like that, and a price that would eventually have to be paid for it, but Sam silenced it, turning his attention to Dean's kiss and Dean's hands. He couldn't leave now, not after this - he'd get to have the life he wanted, and Dean, too. Dean's hand slipped down to stroke him back to hardness, and just before he completely lost the ability to think, Sam wondered if they could qualify for couples housing. After all, nobody at Stanford had to know they were related...


	6. Chapter 6

The late morning sun in his face woke him up, although after the night he'd had, Sam was surprised it hadn't taken an atom bomb to get him up. He smiled just thinking about it, about Dean wrapped around him, kissing him, stroking him... inside him. He stretched, long and lazy, wincing when muscles that weren't used to sex protested. Sitting up slowly, he fully expected to see his brother sitting in the chair at his desk, fully dressed and ready for the day, probably eager to tease him for sleeping late.

But Dean wasn't anywhere to be seen, so Sam guessed he'd gone for coffee, or more likely food, seeing as he was the very definition of a bottomless pit. He forced himself out of bed and hobbled down the hall to the bathroom, hoping that his careful gait didn't scream out to everybody that he'd gotten fucked last night. A hot shower did wonders for his aching body, although he was still pretty sure he was going to be sitting carefully for the next few days. Oh, well - another reason to be grateful he was at college and not facing days of driving anymore. Sam got dressed, shaved, brushed his teeth, and headed back to his room, where there was still no Dean.

Two hours later, he had to admit that it looked like Dean was gone - for good. He'd left. After last night, after everything, he'd left without even saying good-bye or fuck off or anything. He called several times, but all he got was voice mail, and he didn't want to leave a message like one of Dean's cast-off pickups - even if that's what he was.

Sam was thinking about going after him and making him face the issue when he heard a knock on the door, and he looked up to see a pretty young woman smiling at him. "Hey. Are you... I'm Jessica, and I was looking for... Sam? Are you her brother?"

He blinked. "Actually... I'm him."

After an awkward laugh, they went down to the housing office to discover that he'd somehow been put on the dorm registry as Samantha (and wasn't he glad Dean wasn't around to hear _that_ ) and nothing could be done about it until winter break. Telling himself that he'd track Dean down for Christmas, Sam settled into his room and his classes, and pretty soon he was busier than he'd ever known he could be. Jess turned out to be a good friend, and if she wasn't Dean, well... nobody was. He'd found himself almost telling her once or twice about his family - about Dean - but every time he tried, the words stuck in his throat and he often ended up making excuses to go to the library. He spent a lot of time there when school first started, unable to face the room and the bed where he and Dean had... where they'd spent the night together. Instead, he threw himself into schoolwork, taking extra classes whenever he had the chance, hoping that maybe he could exhaust himself to the point that he didn't see green eyes or hear a rough voice coaxing him onward. Eventually, the familiar rhythm of studies and homework took over, and if he stayed on campus for Christmas break, he told himself it was because he was too busy with his research project to leave, and not because he was hoping Dean would show up on Christmas morning. He tried calling when he didn't, but Dean didn't answer - again. When New Year's came and went with still no Dean, Sam spent the night staring at Dean's number on his cell phone registry. The next day he deleted it, telling himself that he had to let go, had to become his own person. Dean didn't want him - he'd made that clear enough with first his absence and then his silence

By the time spring finals rolled around, Sam was starting to feel comfortable at Stanford. He still missed Dean with almost every breath he took, but it was no longer the raw, bleeding wound that had nearly left him unable to function when he'd woken up alone that first morning. Jess knew he wasn't happy at first, knew there was a hole in his heart, and if she was aware that it wasn't a feminine-shaped one, she never said anything. Instead, she just talked to him, invited him out with 'the gang' for pizza, and encouraged him those few times he agreed to go. Her kind understanding and sweet nature proved to be a balm for his broken heart, so when the housing office asked about reassignments for next year, Sam told them he was happy to keep his current set-up.

Overall, he was proud of his progress, although he did lose his cool once: someone in Jess' group called him Sammy, and hearing the familiar name spoken by a stranger had been too much to bear. He'd managed to get away from the table and out to the parking lot before he threw up, and when Jess found him, she didn't say anything, just steered him back to the dorm, where he wound up pulling her down into bed with him. It felt like years since he'd had someone touch him and be close to him, and he'd needed it, needed someone who cared to hold him and keep the dreams at bay. He'd expected the next morning would be awkward, but instead, Jess just hugged him and said she understood, then pulled him up and dragged him down to breakfast. But Sam couldn't forget how nice it had been to hold her that night, so when she asked him to be her date for the Gamma Delta party, he said yes.

The Delts were well known for their end of year blow-outs, and that had been no exception. They'd taken over a local bar - the one that he and Dean gone to on his first night at Stanford, actually - and the beer and shots flowed freely all night. Sam let Jess coax him out onto the dance floor, where he kissed her for the first time, both of them more than a little drunk, but still aware of what they were doing. Their friends laughed and said it was "about damn time, man!", and by the end of the night, as he walked Jess back to their dorm room, Sam thought he just might be ready to move on. At the very least, he found himself looking forward to the start of the next school year. He was too wrapped up in Jessica and the idea of a new relationship to notice the car that sat idling in the shadows across the street from their dorm, and when he stopped to kiss her goodnight yet again, he never heard the man that sat in the front seat whisper, "Sam," in a hoarse voice.


	7. Chapter 7

Dean let Sam have the first shower when they made it back to the motel - he'd earned it, seeing as he'd been the one to lose both legs and opposable thumbs that day. Plus, there was that shot to the crotch, as well. Dean winced just thinking about that one. Besides, after being trapped in TV land and dealing with yet another angelic dick, especially one that had been screwing with them for years, he really just wanted to get something to eat, then crawl into bed and sleep for about a week.

Of course, the second he even thought about laying down, his phone rang. Dean groaned and cast a longing look at his pillow before he forced himself to pick the phone up and answer it. "Yeah?"

"We need to talk. Alone." As usual, Castiel didn't waste time in getting to the point. But tonight Dean really wasn't in the mood for any of his mysterious bullshit.

"What's going on now, Cas? I mean, can't this wait for a day or two - or at least until tomorrow morning?" He rubbed a hand over his face and tried not to think bad thoughts about the angel and his own stupidity in teaching him how to use a cell phone.

"No it can't. Meet me at the warehouse as soon as you can."

"The warehouse?" he asked blankly. "You meant the one where we left a pissed off archangel trapped in a circle of holy fire?" Granted, he'd pulled the fire alarm before they walked away, but he was pretty sure Gabriel wasn't too happy with getting caught and then soaked while he waited for the sprinklers to put the fire out.

"Gabriel isn't here any longer; I've already checked." Castiel was beginning to sound impatient, and Dean reminded himself yet again that arguing with Cas usually proved to be a dead end. Besides, with the apocalypse going on, it wasn't like he could afford to turn down any possible help.

"Yeah, okay." He tucked his phone into his pocket and grabbed his keys, deciding not to leave a message for Sam. He'd probably just assume Dean had gone out to get food, and if he didn't, he could call. Muttering under his breath about angels who didn't seem to realize that humans needed things like food and sleep and showers, he headed back to the warehouse and walked back inside.

Empty space stretched out ahead of him, and he frowned, wondering suddenly if this had been some new kind of trick to lure him back here. "Cas?"

"Good, you got here quickly." Castiel's voice rang out behind him, and Dean swung around to glare at him for that little trick. "Gabriel's warding is still in effect, so we should be able to talk without concern about being detected."

"Yeah, great. Talk about what?"

The angel cocked his head to one side and studied him for a moment before saying, "I may have discovered a way to deal with Lucifer."

"Oh yeah? When did you find that out?" If he found out that Cas had been holding out on them, not telling them the info that could end all of this crap and get things back to normal, then he was going to kick his ass, angel or not.

"I was on my way to tell you about it when I discovered that you were caught in Gabriel's latest... amusement." He looked around the warehouse, obviously disdainful of his brother's chosen pastime. "If my source is correct, we can banish Lucifer forever with the proper ritual."

Despite himself, Dean was impressed and even a little hopeful. Banishing Lucifer with a few stinky herbs and some chanting seemed too good to be true - and any ritual that required more than that was more hoodoo than he was willing to get involved in. "So what's the catch?"

"We don't yet know what the proper ritual is... and the wrong one could very well unleash Hell upon earth," Castiel admitted, then braced for the inevitable explosion. Dean Winchester was many things, but patient was not one of them.

"Wait a second, here. You mean to tell me that you brought me all the way out here so you could say that you know there's an answer, but you don't know what it is?" Dean snapped. He wasn't sure what he was angrier about, the waste of time that he could've been in bed or the way he'd just been given hope that they could actually come out on top this time, only to have it snatched away. "You're a real piece of work, you know that, Cas?"

"I know that you want to find an answer to this problem, but we must proceed with caution." Castiel frowned at him. "And no, I didn't bring you out here just to tell you this. I'm going to keep looking for the answer, but I could use your help, as well; there isn't much time."

"So why'd you ask me? Sam's the researcher." He knew Castiel knew that, and couldn't understand why he was the one the angel seemed to expect to dig through the books.

Castiel shook his head. "Sam can't help with this. Not yet, anyway."

The cryptic answers were starting to get to him. "Why not?"

"We can't tell Sam until we know what the ritual entails," Castiel repeated stubbornly. Dean was getting to the point where he really, really wanted to hit him.

"Look, Cas, you've gotta give me more to go on, here. Especially if you want me to keep this a secret from Sam." There had already been too many secrets between them, too much they kept hidden, and now this. They were never going to be able to trust each other again at this rate.

He hesitated, then admitted, "I was told that love was the answer. And Sam... Sam is too full of rage right now to listen to love."

"Love is the answer," Dean repeated. "And when, exactly, did this whole thing become a Hall & Oates song?"

As usual, the reference went right over the angel's head. "This isn't a song. I consulted a... mystic, I believe you would call her. She was one of the original oracles at Delphi, but she could only tell me that the ritual involves a love that must be shared, and a true joining, nothing more than that."

"Great, just great," he muttered. Love and a true joining. When the hell had his life stumbled into bad romance novel territory? But he knew better than to say anything like that to Cas - he probably wouldn't understand it, and even if he did, he wouldn't appreciate it. But if it could help them get rid of Lucifer without putting Sam in danger, he thought he might very well paint himself blue, stick feathers all over his body, and run naked through the streets, if that was what it took. "All right. What do you want me to do, then?"

"Call Bobby and tell him about this. I'm going to check with a few other people." Castiel hesitated, then ventured, "Perhaps Gabriel..."

"No. Absolutely not." Dean put an end to that idea right away. "No way I'm going anywhere near that dick without being hogtied first."

Cas sighed, but didn't argue. Apparently he knew better than to try and convince Dean that his older brother wasn't a first-class dick. Dean nodded in satisfaction. "Let me know when you find something. In the meantime, I'm going back to bed."


	8. Chapter 8

Dean leaned against the car, his thoughts drifting between the newly-revealed couple and their comfort with each other, and the conversation he'd had with Castiel when the angel popped up earlier in the hunt. Apparently Cas had found the ritual that could save the world, and, true to form, hadn't even considered anything else when he'd come to inform him about it.

He'd been out looking for the creepy kid that they'd seen hiding while Sam did his usual charm and disarm with the manager when Cas popped up. Dean had called him when things first started unraveling, first to yell at him yet again for Chuck's whole prophecy mess getting them into trouble, and also to let him know where they were in case they were needed for something. He'd been hoping the answer to that would've been yes, since they could've left the convention behind, but then the hunt had come up, and they'd found that the idiots who planned that thing had picked a real haunted hotel for their party, so leaving had been out of the question.

Cas' timing wasn't the best, but at least he'd managed to avoid drawing a whole lot of attention. The only thing worse than Cas popping out of midair right behind him would've been Cas popping out of midair in front of at least a hundred people who regarded the things he hunted as great entertainment instead of true monsters. After Dean had gotten his pulse under control, he'd managed to get the angel to tell him about the ritual, and almost immediately afterwards wished he hadn't.

The ritual. He'd been avoiding thinking about it ever since Cas told him what it entailed, but he found now that he couldn't put it off any longer. Apparently, the 'true joining' was part of some ancient fertility rite that used to be used to tie kings to the land they governed. Dean hadn't understood what that had to do with them until Cas explained that, in this case, they'd be tying him to Sam - basically, they'd carry a piece of each other's spirits, which should make them useless as vessels. Something to do with the mixing of souls, or some such. He'd pretty much quit paying attention to anything after the words 'fertility rite'.

Join with Sam. Take him to bed and... He laughed shortly at the thought that an honest-to-God angel was telling him to screw his own brother to save the world. While he'd shot the idea down almost immediately, he'd been unable to stop thinking about it. Surely Cas knew he wasn't asking anything they hadn't done before, although nothing in his calm manner had indicated that he thought there was any real sin in it. Of course, Cas couldn't know about all the things they'd done, the kisses shared and hours of fantastic, mind-blowing sex that occasionally still haunted his dreams. He'd done his best to put the memories of that night at Stanford behind him, but sometimes he could still see Sam just the way he'd left him, fast asleep and smiling in his bed. He'd been so fucked out from everything they'd done that he hadn't even stirred as Dean slipped out of bed and got dressed.

Dean hadn't left right away; he'd sat in the chair next to the bed and watched him sleep, and for a little while, he'd actually thought about staying. Sam had wanted him to, that had been easy to see, but he'd also wanted a normal life, and having his brother as his lover definitely didn't qualify. Leaving had been the only answer, the only way to make sure Sam got what he wanted. Dean wasn't part of that world, and he'd known that he never could be. He belonged on the road, fighting to keep people safe. But he'd known even then that he'd have given it all up in a heartbeat if Sam had asked him to. He wasn't strong enough to say no to his brother - he never had been.

So he'd left, gotten up and walked out the door without even allowing himself one last kiss or one final tender stroke of Sam's hair. He'd had to do it that way, or he'd never have been strong enough to go through with it. As it was, he'd made it down to the Impala before he'd broken down. Thankfully, it had been too early for there to be people around to see him shaking and clinging to the steering wheel. When he'd gotten his breath back, he'd started the car up and headed back out onto the road, heading for the next hunt. He'd left Sam behind, done what was best for both of them, even though he'd known that he'd have thrown it all away and stayed if Sam had asked him.

Some hero he was, abandoning him like that. It had been for his own good, but deep down, Dean doubted that either Sam or the weirdos that had been at the convention here would've seen it that way. Certainly the two men they'd gone hunting with wouldn't. But then, they faced the world without caring what other people thought, about either their hobbies or their relationship. He wondered what that would be like, to have Sam again, to make a claim on him, be able to love him like that, openly and unashamed... It was more than he'd ever really dreamed of. He wondered if perhaps that couple could have been them, if the life they shared could've been his, had things been just a little bit different, even as he knew that he'd thrown any chance of that away the morning he walked away from Stanford.

He twirled his keys idly around one finger, then looked up when he heard Sam call his name. He was grinning like a fool as he loped back to the car. "Dean, you'll never believe this - I found out where the Colt is!"

"Oh yeah? That's gotta be some of the best news we've heard in a while." He forced a smile he didn't really feel, knowing he should be ecstatic about the news of the Colt, but he couldn't help feeling just a little... well, cheated. With the Colt in hand, they couldn't fail to kill the Devil, and the ritual would be meaningless.

"Tell me about it! About time we made some progress on this thing, huh?" Sam slid into the passenger seat and waited for Dean to join him, but he didn't move. Frowning, he leaned across the front seat and called out, "So are you coming, or what? 'Cause I don't know about you, but I'm starving."

Dean shook his head, pushing away thoughts of the Colt, the ritual, and his brother's bed. "Hold your horses, Princess," he sniped, yanking his door open. He settled into the driver's seat, giving the steering wheel an appreciative stroke before he started the engine, then glanced over at Sam before he threw it into reverse. "Hey, you know those guys we teamed up with?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah, what about 'em?"

"They were a couple."

"A couple of pretenders, maybe," Sam joked. But Dean didn't laugh, and when Sam looked over at him, his meaning began to sink in. "Wait. You mean, they were... a couple? Like, a _couple_ couple?"

He hesitated for a second before confirming it. "Yeah, that's what I mean."

"That's just... God, that's sick!" Sam's good mood vanished instantly, and Dean felt his stomach drop. "They're - and when they're pretending to be us... that's like... like - oh my God!" He shuddered and shifted in his seat, moving closer to the door, as though even the thought of being near Dean made him uncomfortable. "I mean, we're _brothers_ , don't they know that?"

"Yeah, well, apparently that doesn't seem to matter to them," he said, echoing Sam's words from when he'd learned what a 'slash fan' was. He thought about the outrage he'd had to dredge up to hide the desire that had made heat shoot through his gut, and he wished he could believe Sam was doing that now. But he didn't think the kind of disgust he could hear in Sam's voice was anything but real. Apparently Cas' ritual was even more out of the picture than he'd thought it would be.

Neither of them said anything else while they headed back to the motel, and once they got into their room, Sam vanished into the bathroom for almost an hour, only emerging when he was fully dressed. Dean felt like snapping at him that he wasn't about to ravage him, but he really didn't want to get into a fight just then. "I thought I'd go get dinner," Sam offered. "You want anything special?"

"Just a burger and fries," he replied, then thought better of it when Sam seemed disappointed with his answer. "And if they have any pie, that'd be great."

Things couldn't be all that bad if Dean was asking for pie. "Got it," Sam said, grinning at him. "Pie coming up." He grabbed the keys and headed out, already thinking about how they were going to find this demon Crowley, get the Colt, and finally manage to stop the apocalypse.

After Sam left, Dean went to flip through the journal, hoping he could dig up some extra information on the Colt. Halfway through, however, he stopped when he came across a photo. His fingers shook as he pulled it out, sinking down onto his bed, studying the young, smiling faces that looked back at him. He didn't remember what state they were in when they'd taken it, but he remembered that day. They were almost halfway to Stanford, and he'd convinced Sam to stop at one of the tourist traps he'd found, and they'd ended up buying T-shirts from the vendor's stand outside, then having their picture taken with them on. The two young men in the photo were leaning against each other, arms wrapped around each other's necks, faces alight with laughter and vitality. They looked like they could take on the world, and he wondered when they'd lost that absolute confidence in themselves. Then he realized that he didn't have to ask - he'd lost it when he'd lost Sam.

His mouth twisted, and Dean shoved the photo back in the journal, slammed it shut, and buried it back in his bag. But he couldn't forget it, couldn't stop thinking about those last days with Sam, when things had been so much simpler, and they'd been happy, even if they hadn't really known it. There had always been monsters and danger in his life, but with Sam, Dean had always found the strength and comfort he needed to continue. And then he'd walked away from it. He hadn't meant to stay gone, or if he had, he'd known even then that he'd fail, but he also hadn't expected to find that Sam had moved on without him by the time he went back for him.

He'd told himself that he'd give it a year, and he'd held out almost until the end of it before he'd gone looking for his brother, ready to do whatever he wanted just as long as he got to stay with him. The only problem was that when he found the bar they'd gone to on that first night, he'd found out that Sam had remembered it, too - and he'd brought someone else. She was gorgeous, tall and blonde, with legs that just didn't stop, and from the easy way she leaned against Sam in between the games of pool he was playing with some frat guys, Dean guessed that they'd been together for a while. Sam looked happy, as though there was nowhere else in the world he'd rather be than there in the bar, with his arms wrapped around his pretty blonde, and for the first time in his life, Dean had discovered that he could indeed be jealous. Jealous enough to want to tear her hair out when she slid a hand up to rest over Sam's heart, earning herself one of his open grins, the kind that used to belong to Dean alone. He'd finished his beer and slipped out, and as far as he knew, Sam still wasn't aware that he'd ever been there. And if he'd been a little bit sloppy on the next few hunts, or if he'd dived a little too deep into the bottle sometimes over the next three years, he'd chalked it up to the occasional loneliness that every hunter dealt with, and not the fact that he'd left his heart in a little town on the California coast.

After a few years had passed, he'd learned to let go, at least enough to hope that Sam was happy, and that the girl he'd seen him with was treating him right. He'd told himself that Sam didn't need his big brother around anymore, but the love and the desire, that had never gone away. And now Cas wanted him to dig it all up again, bring all those hidden secrets out into the light, and use them to save the world. Funny, he'd never thought sex could do all that.

Sex. Dean felt his jeans tighten as he thought about that night at Stanford, when they'd finally given in to what they both wanted and tossed all the rules out the window. He remembered how it felt to watch Sam come unraveled at his touch, remembered the taste of him and the slick slide of their bodies as they moved together, and most of all, the heat of him, the tight, perfect heat. When his hand moved down to rub his dick through his pants, he cursed and forced himself to his feet. A cold shower would do him good, help him get this out of his system before Sam came back and he had to act like a cheeseburger and a piece of pie were enough to satisfy all of his desires.

He kicked off his boots and started towards the bathroom, stripping clothes off as he went. By the time he closed the door behind him, he was down to his boxer briefs, and he made short work of them as well. He turned towards the shower, but stopped when he caught sight of himself in the mirror. Dean stared at the image in front of him, wondering where that boy from the picture had gone. He raised a hand to touch the tattoo over his heart, the one that was an exact copy of his brother's, then traced over one of the scars that he'd gotten since he came back from Hell. He was beginning to look more like himself, the last two years showing on his skin like a map of everything that had happened.

Turning away from the mirror, Dean walked over the shower and pulled the curtain back, then stepped into the mildewed stall, his movements almost mechanical, habit taking over to guide him through it. Despite his intentions to make it a cold shower, he twisted the knob towards hot, and soon steam was rising around him as he tilted his head back, basking in the luxury of heat as it slid down his spine. He hadn't realized how much he ached until he began to relax, perpetually tense muscles massaged by the pounding spray. They didn't often find places with good water pressure, but it seemed that this time, luck had been on their side.

Dean reached for the soap and started to wash himself, slow circles that left suds glistening on his chest. He let his mind drift as he moved down over his abdomen, recalling the way it had felt to bury his face in Sam's neck while he arched up beneath him, moaning and begging for more. He told himself yet again that it was just this once, that this was the only time he'd allow himself to think about this. A shiver of pure need racked his body, and he couldn't stop himself from letting the bar of soap fall to the tiles as he wrapped his sudsy hand around his aching dick. He thought about Sam touching him, his eyes wide when he'd reached for him and curled his fingers around his cock, fully aware of what he was doing.

A moan echoed in the small bathroom as he began to stroke himself, swiping his thumb over the leaking tip, feeling the droplets well up beneath his touch. He reached out to place one hand against the wall, bracing himself, his eyes drifting closed as he let the memories play out - Sam running his hand down his cock while Dean squirmed and begged for more, Sam tilting his head back to look at him with hot eyes while he knelt between his legs, Sam bucking up into his hands as he stroked him into madness and slid fingers deep inside his body, Sam sucking a bruise into being on his hip just before he turned his head and captured him in his mouth... Sam, Sam, always Sam.

Dean thrust into his fist, hips snapping back and forth as he lost himself in memories of that night, and fantasies of things they hadn't had time to try. He remembered burying his hands in Sam's hair, writhing on his too-small dorm room bed while his brother treated him to an inexpert blowjob that had made him come almost embarrassingly fast. He remembered Sam's panting moans as he opened him up, and thought about what it would be like now, to take him hard and fast before turning over for him in return. Sam had gotten so much bigger since that night in college, and now he was like a freaking tree, all power and muscle, and Dean wanted to know what that would be like inside him. He wanted - God, he wanted so many things, and he couldn't hold back any longer, not with the thoughts of them swimming through his mind. He groaned, "Sam," his knees almost buckling from the overwhelming pleasure as he came in a series of hard spurts.

The water soon washed the evidence of his sin away, and once more Dean was left with the memories that he knew would haunt him until he died - again. He took a deep breath, steam making his lungs ache as he thought about the ritual Cas had mentioned, the one that just might give him what he wanted... if only Sam would agree to it as well. Easier said than done, considering how disgusted he'd been over that couple from the convention. Dean sighed and finished up his shower, reluctantly forcing himself to get out before either the water ran cold or Sam came back. He was in the process of drying off when the shrill ring of his phone sounded from the other room. Grumbling to himself about being forced from the bathroom before he was ready, he wrapped the towel around his waist and stalked back into the bedroom.

Without bothering to look at the caller ID, he flipped the phone open and barked, "Yeah?" It was probably just Sam, calling to see what kind of pie he wanted, or yammering on about some website he'd found that Dean really couldn't care less about.

"Have you given any more thought to the ritual?" Castiel asked.

Dean cleared his throat and took a shaky breath. "Yeah. I'll do it."


	9. Chapter 9

Dean could feel Castiel following him when he went outside to get away from the dismal atmosphere inside the house. He wondered if all hunters handled the loss of one of their own the same way, with booze and stories of past kills, or if that particular form of mourning belonged to the Winchesters alone. Either way, he hadn't been able to stand much more of it. Of course, what he could or couldn't stand never seemed to matter to the angel, especially when he had his own agenda. "You must talk to Sam about the ritual soon."

Dean sighed, not looking over at him at first. "Can't it wait, Cas? I'm kinda... We lost friends last night, if you hadn't noticed."

"And unless you want their deaths to be meaningless, we need to act now," Castiel shot back, relentlessly pressing his point. "There isn't any time to waste, particularly now that Sam has spoken with Lucifer.

He'd been putting off talking to Sam, partly because he wasn't sure how to even bring up the ritual and what they'd have to do for it, but mostly because he didn't want to think about Sam's reaction. He still remembered the sick look on his face when he'd found out about those guys at the convention, not to mention the way he'd acted when he'd woken up that first morning... If he was lucky, Sam would leave it at 'Hell, no,' but if he wasn't, he'd get a fist right in his face. But if the choices were let Sam think he was sick or let Lucifer have his brother, then the answer was easy. "How long do we have?" he asked softly.

Castiel looked past him, as though weighing matters of time and space far beyond the junkyard in which they stood. "A month, maybe a little more," he finally said. "But you can't allow him to fall any deeper into Lucifer's net or we won't be able to retrieve him in time."

Dean swallowed hard. If what Cas said was true, then Lucifer had just bumped his timeline for getting at Sam up, and they really couldn't afford to waste any more time. "I'll talk to him tonight."

The angel nodded grimly. Dean thought he would pull his vanishing act, but instead, he placed a hand lightly on his shoulder. "I regret the loss of Jo and Ellen," he said haltingly. "They were strong warriors, and good women, who will be welcomed into -"

Dean cut him off with a quickly raised hand. "Save it, Cas. Just... let me get through this, okay?" He turned around and trudged back to the house.

Bobby had gone to bed soon after Dean slipped out, leaving Sam alone with the bottle of bourbon he'd taken out of the liquor cabinet almost as soon as they walked through the door. He guessed he was supposed to be mourning Jo and Ellen, or lamenting the failure of their plan to kill the Devil, but he couldn't seem to feel anything. Over and over again, he heard Lucifer's voice ringing in his ears, so calm and absolutely certain of himself and his plan's success.

Sam slumped down his chair and took another swig from the bottle, contemplating suicide for probably the five hundredth time since he'd discovered he was Lucifer's vessel. He knew what Lucifer had said about bringing him back if he tried, but maybe if he did it right, maybe if he used a grenade, then Lucifer wouldn't be able to put all of the parts back together in time...

The back door banged as it swung shut, and Sam pulled himself out of his increasingly maudlin thoughts when Dean walked back in without his usual angelic bodyguard. "Where's Cas?"

He didn't answer right away, just grabbed the bottle out of Sam's hands and took a swig, wincing at the burn of the alcohol. "We need to talk," he told him, the quiet words filling him with dread. He'd had a feeling this was coming, but it still wasn't easy to hear.

"Can we do this tomorrow? I'm not exactly up to a talk right now."

"This really can't wait," Dean answered, sinking down into the chair next to his. He took another swig and passed the bottle back to his brother, then leaned forward, putting his elbows on his knees, head dropping forward for a minute before he looked up at him. "Cas said... he says there might be a way for us to get rid of Lucifer - for good."

Sam snorted. "Yeah, I just bet he does. Let me guess... it involves him cutting me into lots of tiny pieces with his sword, right?" Although he wasn't all too sure he'd say no to that idea. Being killed by an angel would probably leave him pretty difficult to resurrect.

"What? No!" Dean's brows furrowed, and he looked at Sam like he'd just suggested they start eating people. "Sam, how could you even think I'd... No, it's a ritual."

"A ritual?" he repeated blankly. Surely getting rid of Lucifer couldn't be as easy as a little bit of hoodoo. "What's the catch?"

Dean looked back down at his hands. "It's kind of special. We have to have two people - you and me, to be specific."

Sam shrugged. "So we'll do it. But if it's that simple, why didn't we just do it weeks ago instead of wasting our time with the Colt?"

"Cas only found it about a month ago. It, uh, it's a claiming ritual." He wondered briefly if he should've waited until tomorrow after all, if Sam was too drunk to really understand what they might be getting into, but he'd started this, and now he might as well finish it. "We have to... join."

"Join?" Somewhere in his alcohol-soaked brain was the dim thought that he was missing something, even if he wasn't sure what it was. "So... what, we get some kind of new magical tattoos, then?"

Dean shook his head. "Not exactly." He only wished it was as easy as that. "We have to... um, we'd have to..." He gestured with his hands, struggling to find the right words before he settled on, "Make love." He felt like a girl saying that, but he figured it was better than saying they needed to fuck like rabbits to save the world.

The bottle of bourbon fell to the floor, hitting the carpet with a soft thunk, but Sam didn't pay any attention to it. He shook his head, swallowing hard as he stared at Dean. "No, you're - you're kidding, right? Cause I know you're not suggesting that we... "

"Yeah, I am." Dean winced at the disgust that was written all over Sam's face. He'd known he wouldn't take it well, but he'd hoped he might be willing to listen. Guess he'd been wrong. He sighed and tried again. "If it'll make all of this stop, then maybe -"

"No!" The word exploded out of Sam's mouth at the same time that he shot out of his chair. "We - we can't. It's... We're brothers, Dean. That's just - it's sick!"

Dean followed him out of his chair, taking a step towards him, only to see Sam shrink away from him. "Sammy..."

"Don't call me that! Not when you're asking me to - not now."

"Sam," he corrected, cursing himself for his instinctive slip of the tongue. "Sam, we have to do this." When Sam started to protest again, Dean cut him off. "If we don't, we'll lose. Lucifer's closing in, and you know it. He's coming for you, Sam."

"He's not gonna get me, Dean! I have to say yes first, remember? Or don't you trust me to do the right thing?"

"Of course I trust you, but what if... What if he threatens Bobby? Or me? Would you still be able to tell him no if it meant he'd kill us?" Sam's silence was answer enough. "Listen, Cas says we've only got about a month left before Lucifer makes his big move, and I -" He hesitated, fumbling with the words he knew he couldn't say, unable to tell him that he loved him, that he didn't want to lose him, and not just because of what it would do to the world, but for his own selfish sake, for what it would do - _had_ done, in a future five years off - to Dean. "He can't have you, Sam. I won't let him, and if this is what it takes to stop him, then it's what we have to do."

Sam took another step back. "I can't, Dean. It's not just the -" he choked on the word _sex_ , unable to get it out, but forced himself to continue, "I just can't do that, okay?"

"Look, Sam, I'm sorry, okay?" Dean tried not to think about how familiar the sight of Sam moving away from him was getting. "I wish there was another way, I do, but there's not. The Colt didn't work, and we don't know of anything else that can work, so this is it, okay? This is all we've got left."

"Then we're just gonna have to find something else, because I'm not doing _that_ with you!" Sam glared at him, hands twitching at his sides like he was fighting the urge to punch him. "Jesus, Dean, wasn't that time at college enough for you? Are you really such a sick pervert that you just can't wait to fuck your own brother?" His eyes narrowed in sudden calculation. "Is this even a real ritual, or just something you came up with so you could get one more round in?"

The accusation was like a knife in his heart, and he couldn't keep his face from twisting in pain. "Yeah, that's it, Sam," he bit out. "I'm so eager to fuck you that I'd make up a ritual that could save the world just so I could get a piece of your ass." He shook his head and turned on his heel. "You know what? Fuck off. We'll find another way to save the fucking world, and if we can't, then it can go to hell for all I care." He stalked towards the back door, slamming it behind him as hard as he could.


	10. Chapter 10

Sam raked a hand through his hair and sank down to the floor. The shaking had stopped an hour ago, thank God. He still felt wrong, his skin too tight and he itched like crazy, but hopefully the worst of it was behind him. "It wasn't me," he whispered, repeating the words Castiel had told him once they'd defeated Famine, clinging to them for all he was worth. "It wasn't really me."

"Of course it was," a quiet voice said.

Sam looked up to see Lucifer step out of the shadows by the door. "You're not real," he blurted out. "You're not - I'm hallucinating. You can't get in here."

"Sam, Sam, Sam," Lucifer chided, smiling affectionately at him as though he were a small child who'd done something particularly adorable. "I can go anywhere that sin exists; those little devil's traps could never keep me out."

"But how did you know I'd be here?" As soon as he asked the question, he realized how stupid it was, and from the way Lucifer shook his head, he knew it, too.

"Where else would you go? Your brother betrayed you, the angel you both trusted to watch your backs turned out to be as much a slave to his passions as you were, and you've spent the last three days going through withdrawal - again." His smile turned distinctly malicious. "There's only one place left for you to go... or should I say, only one place that Dean would trust you to be."

Sam tilted his head back. "Dean trusts me, no matter what." The lie tasted bitter on his tongue.

Lucifer clucked his tongue against his teeth. "Now, Sam, I'd have thought you'd know better than to try to lie to _me_." He walked over to him and placed a hand on top of his head, gently stroking his hair. "You really don't know how special you are, do you? How much I need you? Believe it or not, I really do care about you, Sam. And unlike your brother, I'll never lie to you or trick you."

"My brother didn't trick me," he shot back. But he couldn't stop himself from thinking about the last month, about Dean going off with every single girl he could find, an endless parade of bimbos picked up in bars that he took back to the hotel room he shared with Sam.

As though he could read his mind, Lucifer shook his head. "How can you say he didn't trick you when he's done nothing but deceive and trick you all your life?"

"No, you're wrong. Dean wouldn't do that. Dean doesn't... Dean loves me." It was the same thing he'd told himself ever since he had words, a whisper in the dark to keep the monsters and bad dreams at bay whenever his brother wasn't close enough to do it himself.

"He loves you?" Lucifer laughed. "Oh, yes, that's right. He loves you so much that he followed you all the way to Stanford, didn't he? You tried to get away, to do the right thing, and what did he do? He came after you, seduced you with kisses and sweet words, and the next day... Where was he that morning, Sam?"

"Don't do this," he whispered hoarsely. He hated himself for begging like this, but he couldn't hear any more of this.

Lucifer ignored him, fingers carding slowly through his hair. "He was gone, wasn't he?" he reminded him. "He didn't even bother to leave you a note, didn't call or come back to visit for almost four years, did he? But when Daddy went missing, he was certainly quick to come find you and drag you right back into hunting."

"No, he's not like that. You're making it sound like - you're wrong."

"He used you, Sam. Just like he's been using you for years, stringing you along with promises that you know he'll never keep."

The room around him shifted, changing into his first dorm room, the narrow iron bed becoming the one that they'd - that they'd - oh, God. Sam jerked away from Lucifer's hand, scuttling backwards like a crab. "Stop it!" he pleaded, his voice rising as he fought against the hysteria that threatened to overwhelm him. "Just stop! Make it - Dean! _Dean!!_ "

Lucifer didn't move from his spot, just watched him and smiled. "He can hear you, Sam.... he just doesn't care." he told him. "He doesn't care that you're in here with me, while he's out there with his angel." As he spoke, Dean and Castiel appeared, standing inches away from each other by the door, staring intently into each other's eyes. "That's who's important to him now," Lucifer purred. "Castiel, and the mission, saving the world... He'll do anything to make that happen, you know that."

Dean cupped Castiel's cheek and leaned in as though to kiss him, while Castiel tilted his head, obviously eager for the contact. "He doesn't want you anymore." The soft, even tone sliced into him like knives. "But I do, Sam. I need you."

"Dean needs me," Sam choked out. "Dean's always needed me."

Lucifer smirked at him. "Don't be ridiculous. The only thing Dean ever needed from you was your body. He loved how hot and tight you were, how much you wanted him. Didn't he tell you that, over and over again, how good you felt?" The room began to fill with ghostly images of himself and Dean - younger shadows of themselves, entwined on the bed, pressed up against the wall, bent over the desk that Sam had studied at for years. "That's what he misses," Lucifer told him. "Not your heart or your soul. Not you, just your body and the way it tightened around him when you came."

Sam shuddered, looking wildly around, but everywhere he looked, he saw them, hands and mouths and bodies joined, moving against each other, faces contorted with pleasure. He knew that feeling, remembered it as vividly as if they'd made love only last night - except that it hadn't really been love, had it? "Stop," he pleaded again. "I just - I'm not saying yes, so stop it... Please."

To his surprise, the figures vanished. Lucifer crouched down, and Sam saw to his horror that he looked like Dean. It was his brother's eyes that locked onto his, and his brother's smile, open and easy like it hadn't been for years, that warmed him as Lucifer leaned forward. "And I'll tell you something else, Sammy," he confided, in Dean's rough tones. "If you didn't want me, even just a little bit, then I couldn't be here. This is your abiding sin, Sam - and you'll never get free of it."

"No," he gasped, unable to bear the thought that his depravity could've been the thing that brought Lucifer to his doorstep. "No!"

"Oh, yes, Sammy." Dean slowly melted away to reveal Lucifer. "And you know it, too... Don't you?"

" _No!!_ " He ran to the door and began to bang on it, frantic to get out and away from that knowing smile. "Help! Dean... Cas... if you're out there, please... _Help!_ "

The screams and bangs echoed through the corridor, ringing in the ears of the two men who stood on the other side of the door. Castiel looked over at Dean. "That's not him in there," he said quietly. "Not really."

He'd done his best to bear up under the assault, but when he heard Sam scream his name, Dean felt like he was losing him all over again, like everything he'd done to stop this was just a waste of time. It was all falling apart, and all he could do was watch - and drink. He could always do that. Raising the bottle to his lips, he took a long swig, letting the alcohol warm him from the inside out as it burned its way down his throat. Maybe it could fix some of the parts inside him that had been broken for years - ever since Stanford.

"I know," he said softly, wishing he could believe it as easily as Cas seemed to.

"Dean," Castiel said insistently, "Sam just has to get it out of his system. And then he'll be -"

Dean cut him off, unable to stand any more attempts at comfort. "Listen, I just -" Sam sobbed his name, begging for his help, and he felt his chest tighten until he couldn't breathe. "I just need to get some air."

He left Cas standing guard in the basement and headed outside to the junkyard. The fresh scent of earth filled his nose, clean and damp from a recent rain, and he wished he could feel like that, like something as simple as rain could wash him clean again. He started to lift the bottle to his lips again, but then stopped. The alcohol wasn't helping - it couldn't take away the pain inside, couldn't give him what he needed. No, what he needed was his brother, who was currently down in Bobby's panic room detoxing from his slide back into demon blood. He thought about Sam's terrified screams, and he struggled in vain to hold the tears back, only to have a dry, racking sob tear its way out of him. "Please... I can't -" he stopped as he tried to find the words, some way to ask for the aid that he'd all but given up on. "I need some help." He wasn't sure if there really was someone up there, but he'd reached the end of his rope, and he didn't mind begging for the help he knew they had to have if they were going to get through this. "Please."

Castiel waited until Dean left before he closed his eyes and let his grace slip free of his vessel. His consciousness expanded outward, from the yard outside the house, upward along the skies, soaring as far as he could, seeking to rid himself of the taint of hunger and humanity that had gripped him so fiercely these past few days. He heard Dean's prayer and he started to pull back, but a pained scream made him pause. It was the heartrending cry of a despairing soul, the last wail before it was lost to the pit, and he turned to see the fading glow, marking the location before he pulled back into his vessel and went to find Dean.

He was outside, staring up into the vast night sky as if he were looking for an answer that he didn't expect to receive. Castiel found himself reluctant to disturb him, but there was still work to do, and perhaps the doing could restore some of the faith he hoped the human had recently found. "Dean. There is a hunt that must be undertaken right away."

There had been no answer but the crunch of gravel as Castiel approached him. Dean took a shaky breath, quickly wiping his eyes before he turned to look at Cas, trying to call on his years of training and slip back into hunter mode. "I can't leave Sam. Not now. When he's better, then we can-"

"It's in Detroit," he stated, sure that the location would explain to Dean why he had to go alone.

Detroit. Where Sam was supposed to say yes to Lucifer. Where he apparently had, in a future Dean hated to think about. "Sam needs me," he stated, unsure if he was trying to convince Castiel or himself. "I can't just leave him like this."

"I will stay and take care of Sam," Castiel assured him.

Dean wasn't thrilled with the idea of entrusting his brother to anyone else, but he knew Cas wasn't going to drop it until he agreed. "Fine. What's so urgent that I have to go take care of it right now?"

"There is a righteous soul suffering untold agonies."

"Isn't there always?"

Castiel glared at him. "This isn't funny, Dean. One of Lucifer's demons is ripping a human soul to shreds. They're trying to completely eradicate it, to erase the very fact of its existence from the face of the earth."

"Jesus," he muttered. Apparently demons had gotten more creative with the big boss walking around. "Okay, time to go gank some demons, then. Just... don't let Sam leave, okay? If anything happens to him..." he couldn't finish that thought, just the idea enough to make his throat close up.

"He will remain secure within the panic room." Castiel provided the location of the torture, along with the few details he knew. "You will need to hurry; Lucifer gains power with every righteous soul that he manages to destroy rather than drag into Hell."


	11. Chapter 11

"Wakey, wakey, Deanie baby..." The soft singsong that pulled him out of unconsciousness was followed by a giggle, as something cold and sharp slid down his throat. "I know you're awake, Dean. And I'm about to get cranky if I don't get to see those pretty eyes of yours."

The voice lashed at his senses like iron and fire, but Dean did his best to keep his wits about him. It was hard, especially when the feel of the blade against his throat made him want to pull away, but he could feel his hands and feet tied to something hard and unyielding. He mentally called himself ten different kinds of idiot for rushing in like he had instead of waiting and coming up with a plan. But when he'd come by on recon and heard the girl inside scream, he'd known he couldn't leave her there any longer. So he'd charged in, determined to rescue her, and he'd managed to kill several of the demons guarding her before she... oh, God, she'd looked up and her eyes were black.

It had been a trap, all of it. And he'd been too worried about Sam and too distracted about being on his own to notice. He'd made a rookie mistake, but this time there was no Dad or Sam to back him up; he'd have to get out of this one on his own. "Last chance to open your eyes, Dean," his tormentor said. "Time to play ball... or else lose your eyelids."

He blinked his eyes open and glared up at her. "Bitch," he growled, only to have her laugh at him. "I'm gonna gank you so hard, skank."

She clucked her tongue against her teeth. "I'd ask if you kiss your mommy with that mouth, but then your mommy isn't around to kiss, is she? She hasn't been for years."

"Is that the best you can come up with? I mean, really, you guys aren't much for originality, are you?" Hopefully he could get her wound up enough that she'd do something stupid and give him a chance to make a move.

"Dean, Dean, Dean. You're gonna have to work harder than that," she told him. The knife at his throat retreated as one hand delved into his jeans to retrieve his phone. She flipped it open, hit the entry for Cas, and held it up near his mouth. "Ask your little angel friend there for help, or you're gonna lose one of your favorite toys," she purred, drawing the knife down over his chest, moving slowly towards his crotch.

"Hello? Dean?" Castiel's voice drifted out of the phone. Dean opened his mouth to tell Cas not to give her anything, to just stay there with Sammy, but he couldn't get the words out.

The demon giggled again and moved the phone back to her ear. "Sorry, angel boy. Dean's a little busy right now." She grabbed hold of his crotch, dug her nails in, and twisted hard, holding the phone out so Castiel could hear Dean's scream. "If you want your boy back, you're gonna have to bring me mine," she told the angel. "By sunset tomorrow, or you get Dean back in as many little pieces as I can think of."

"No, Cas! I can take it, but don't bring him! _Cas!_ " Dean screamed again as nails dug into him through his jeans and another hard wrench sent pain flaring up through his body. He gritted his teeth and did his best to hang on, hoping Cas would listen to him and keep Sam safe. Whatever they were going to do to him would be worth it if Sam was safe.

She snapped the phone closed and crouched down to look at him. "Looks like it's just you and me again, Sparky. And since you seem to be in such a talking mood, how about you tell me why you don't just say yes to Michael and get this all over with, hmmm?"

"Why should I tell a demon bitch like you squat?" he spat.

"Aww, Deano, I'm hurt. You don't remember me," she teased, moving into his lap. She straddled his thighs, flicking the switchblade open again. The point skated lightly over his shoulder, and he felt blood well up as a stinging pain shot down his arm. "And here I thought we could have all kinds of fun remembering old times together... Starting with Sam's first murder, of course. You really should've killed him then when you had the chance, you know."

"Fuck off and die, Meg," he retorted. "Or better yet, wait here and I'll send you back to Hell - again." He hoped the fear snaking its way through him didn't show in his voice. He wasn't ready to die again, didn't want to go back to Hell, but he sure as hell wasn't gonna line up for Michael to use him as an angel condom and leave him trapped inside his own head. Michael had said he'd make sure he was all right, but Dean couldn't trust it - if the last two years had taught him anything, it was that angels wouldn't hesitate to lie, cheat, or steal to get whatever it was they wanted.

She laughed. "Not gonna be that easy, Deano. But that's okay, you don't have to talk about it if you don't want to. Not like I really want you to give in, anyway - makes it a lot easier for my side to win if you keep cock blocking Michael. And besides, there's other things to do than talk, isn't there?" She started slowly cutting his shirt off, shredding it in long black ribbons that fell around him like discarded flower petals. "So... where do you think we should start, hmmm? Cause I'm thinking that pesky tattoo there needs to go."

Dean steeled himself for the first bite of the knife. "You're not getting inside of me bitch," he told her. "And you're not. Getting. Sam."

"We'll just see about that," she purred. Dean kept his eyes locked on hers as the knife dug into his flesh, biting his tongue until he tasted blood. He fought to keep quiet, and long after he lost that battle, he watched her, staring into those black, black eyes until finally he fell into them, and darkness descended.

Meg was playing with one of the larger gashes, tracing sigils in the blood, when she heard the rustle of wings behind her. "Well, well, look who decided to drop in," she commented. She didn't bother to turn around and look, although her smile grew when she heard Sam's horrified gasp.

"You aren't going to get away from us this time," Castiel promised. "I have brought you Sam Winchester as you requested. Now, release Dean."

"Now, now, there's no need to get your feathers ruffled. You can have Dean once Sam leaves with me." She finally twisted around to smile brightly at them, waving the bloody knife in a casual greeting. "Hiya, Sam, how've you been?"

Sam didn't answer, too horrified by the sight of his brother's limp, blood-streaked body to manage more than a hoarse whisper, "God, Dean..."

Meg sighed. "Yeah, I know, it's rough to see him like that." She slid off his lap, and Sam's eyes dropped to the jeans that were dark and stiff with blood. The demon moved to stand behind Dean, and laid the blade against his throat. "Now, then, ready to go, or should we have one more little slice for the road?"

"I - can I just - I want to say good-bye." He needed that, needed to touch him one last time and tell him how sorry he was for all the things he'd said.

Meg studied him for a second, then nodded. She twisted her fingers in Dean's hair and pulled his head back, smacking his face with the flat blade of the knife. "Wake up, Deanie baby, there's someone here to see you."

Dean's eyes fluttered, but didn't open. "Sam?" he asked hoarsely.

"Dean! Dean, I'm -" Sam started to move towards him, but the point of the knife bore down against his throat and a new trickle of blood appeared, stopping him cold.

Meg nodded approvingly. "Good boy. Now, go put that necklace on -" she gestured over at the amulet that lay coiled on the bedside table, "and your little feathered friend can have your brother back."

"Meg, what did I tell you about the Winchesters?" a silky, smooth voice asked from the bathroom door. Lucifer didn't bother to look at Sam or Castiel, his attention focused on the demon who held the knife to Dean's throat. She flinched and shrank back as he approached, her gaze dropping immediately to the ground.

"Father... I've brought Sam and Dean Winchester to you." Meg dropped to her knees beside Dean's chair, laying the bloody knife in front of her like an offering.

Sam had frozen when he first heard Lucifer's voice, but as he walked towards Dean, he couldn't keep still any longer. "You bastard," he snarled, lunging towards him, although he wasn't exactly sure how he intended to really hurt the Devil himself.

An outstretched hand stopped him and held him motionless. "That's not necessary, Sam," Lucifer chided him, his voice soft, the smile he gave him almost gentle. "I didn't tell her to do this to your brother. I wouldn't harm him, not like this."

"Why not?" he demanded.

"Because I want your consent, freely given, not coerced. I told you I wouldn't trick you or lie to you, and I keep my word. I want you on my side, Sam." He looked at Dean, who was struggling to lift his head. "Your brother, too, if he'll come with you. I wouldn't part the two of you."

"Fuck you," Dean wheezed. "I'd rather go back in the pit."

Lucifer walked over to crouch down before him. "Are you sure, Dean? Think about what I'm offering you. You can have your brother with you - just the way you want him, forever." He looked over at Sam. "And you can be the one protecting Dean, for once, keeping him safe."

It wasn't the first time he'd wanted to give in, but it was the most tempting. Sam swallowed hard, but managed to shake his head. "No," he forced out, "I can't."

Lucifer sighed. "We'll continue this conversation another time, then. When you're not so worried about your brother." He lowered his hand and slowly rose. "Take him and your angel and go."

He didn't know why they'd been given the reprieve, but he knew better than to question it. Sam hurried over to untie Dean, grunting as he slumped forward against him. He carefully draped one arm around his neck and hoisted him up, mentally gauging the distance to the door. He was starting to struggle towards it when Lucifer called out, "Wait one moment, please."

Sam turned back to him in time to see him raise his hand, and there was a blinding white light, stronger than any demon's, bright enough that he could see why he had been called the Morning and Evening Star. When it faded, they were left in an empty hotel room, devoid of any traces of the torture that had gone on there. His brother was still leaning against him, his clothes soaked with blood, but the fresh marks on his face and chest were... gone?!? "What the hell?" he muttered, pushing Dean onto the bed and dropping to his knees, hands moving over his body as he tried to make sure his eyes weren't playing tricks on him. "What did he -"

"He healed him," Castiel stated. Sam glanced over at him to see the angel looking from Dean to the last place they'd seen Lucifer, his eyes wide and stunned. "Lucifer used his grace to heal him. I hadn't known he could still -"

Dean's low groan cut him off. "Christ, feels like someone peeled me alive," he rasped. He shoved Sam's hands away and tried to squirm out of his grasp, but he was still too weak to do much. "That was a fucking stupid thing to do, Cas - told you not to come for me, didn't I?"

"Don't blame Cas," Sam objected. "I made him do it. I couldn't leave you there, Dean. She would've - she'd have killed you, and then I'd have -"

"Stop it." He shifted and tried to shove Sam's hand away again. "You'd do what you had to do - you'd keep fighting."

"No, I wouldn't." He leaned his head against Dean's arm, unable to look at him. "Dean, you went to Hell once, to save me, and I... When you were gone, I just - I can't do that again." The six months he'd spent alone with nothing but the hunt to sustain him after the Mystery Spot hovered on the tip of his tongue, but thankfully Castiel interrupted.

"Lucifer knows that we're here, so we need to start the ritual tonight. Are you both going to be... up to it?"

Dean sighed and raised one hand to lay over Sam's, giving it a light squeeze. He knew what he meant, about living in a world with him, since he'd had to face the same thing after Cold Oaks, and Sam had done it longer than he had. But he couldn't ask him to do the ritual, not against his will. "We're not doing it, Cas."

"Yeah we are," Sam corrected him, voice muffled against Dean's arm. "That is, unless you don't want -"

Not want him? Dean couldn't remember a time when he hadn't. "But you said -"

Castiel cut them both off. "You don't have a choice anymore. If you're going to do this, you need to do it now."

Sam blinked and looked over at the angel. "Why?"

"Lucifer knows where you are, Sam. He may have let you go now, but believe me, he _will_ try again. This is the only thing we know of that can stop him, and if it's not done immediately, we may lose any other chances we've got to perform it."

Dean looked down at Sam's head, which had dropped back down to his arm. "You sure you're up for this, Sammy?"

He raised his head and smiled at him. "Yeah."

It wasn't the heated declaration of heartfelt need that he wanted to hear, but it was enough to convince him that Sam wasn't going to be the sacrificial virgin on the altar. Dean grinned at him in return. "So what do we need to do?" he asked Cas, never taking his eyes off his brother's face.

"I'll get another room and get it ready." Castiel walked out the door before either of them could stop him, returning shortly with a black duffel bag. Dean started to ask which body they were going to need to stuff inside it, but Cas pulled two large bundles of white cloth out first. "You'll each need to take a shower, then anoint yourselves with the oil that I'll leave in the bathroom for you, and put these on."

"Aww, no sponge bath?" Dean teased. He'd been looking forward to playing the invalid enough to get Sam to clean him up, but Castiel turned a stern look on him.

"You must come pure to the ritual, empty of all but your desire for the bond, willing to do whatever it takes to join yourselves together."

Sam glared at Dean. "We got it, Cas. And we'll do it right, I promise."

He nudged Dean, who grunted and nodded grudgingly. "Yeah, okay, we'll play by the rules."

Castiel gave both of them a look that promised dire retribution if they messed up, then vanished, bag and all. Sam huffed out an annoyed sigh at the sudden disappearance. "Look, why don't I take the first shower? You can rest up for a while, okay?"

"Sounds like a good plan." Dean yawned and turned over, reaching out to grab hold of the spare pillow and pull it close. "Wake me when you're done," he mumbled, already halfway to sleep by the time he heard the bathroom door close.


	12. Chapter 12

Ordinarily, with Dean weak and recently-injured in the next room, Sam would've hurried through his shower, eager to tend to his brother, but doing that now seemed almost... sacrilegious. If what Castiel said was correct, this ritual would join them closer than any marriage - 'body, mind, heart, and soul', according to the angel, and it didn't feel right to hurry through getting ready for what was probably the only wedding he'd ever have. He snorted at the thought of what Dean would say if he heard him call it that; probably something about him being the bride, if he knew his brother.

After both hair and body were thoroughly washed, he shut the water off and stepped out of the shower, grabbing one of the towels off the stack above the toilet to dry himself off. Castiel had placed the bottles of oil on the counter, along with a written prayer and a note about making sure they were _completely_ anointed, so before he got started, Sam cracked the door open and called out, "Dean? You okay?"

A sleepy murmur answered him, and he took that as a yes, so he closed the door and picked up the bottle with his name on it. He poured some oil out into his hand and started rubbing it into his chest, stumbling a little over the unfamiliar cadence of the prayer. Luckily, it was short, so by the time he'd finished his arms and moved on to his legs, he had it memorized. Castiel hadn't said anything about what was considered 'completely anointed', but after some internal debate, Sam decided there probably wasn't such a thing as too prepared. He swallowed and wrapped one oily hand around his dick, doing his best not to get fully hard as he coated his shaft and balls with the slippery liquid. He was pretty sure jerking off with the oil wouldn't count as staying pure for the ritual. His back presented a little bit more of a challenge, but he settled on dousing one of the clean washcloths with the oil, grateful for once that he had ridiculously long arms, because he wasn't about to go out there and ask Dean to do it for him.

Finally, he dried his hands off, pulled the long white robe on, and went out into the bedroom to find Dean watching TV. "Your turn. Let me know if you need help with the anointing prayer, okay?"

"What prayer?" Dean didn't look away from the episode of _Dr Sexy, MD_ that he was watching until Sam came over to sit down on the foot of his bed. "Dude, you stink."

"Yeah, well, so will you once you're done." Sam thumped his foot through the covers. "Go get in the shower. Cas isn't gonna wait forever."

Dean grumbled to himself, then rolled out of bed and started for the bathroom. "Whatever, man. I'll be right out."

"Don't rush it!" Sam called after him, although the only answer he received was the solid thunk of the door closing. He doubted Dean would look at the preparation the way he did - Dean wasn't really one for sacred space, which meant both the prep and ritual were likely to end up as business-type transactions. And that was good, right? Because if they weren't, if this was too much like that night at Stanford and then they went back to hunting again like it never happened... Sam couldn't handle that. He'd walk right out into the arms of the closest demons before he went through that kind of pain again. Sighing, he sniffed himself cautiously, trying to figure out yet again exactly what was in that oil, then gave up and stared unseeingly at the TV, trying to do whatever he could to pass the time while he waited for Dean to come out of the bathroom.

Dean glanced at the bottle of oil and white robe that were left out for him, then shook his head and looked at himself in the mirror. "What the hell are you doing?" he asked himself, watching his reflection as though it might somehow have an answer for him. He'd finally admitted that he wanted this, wanted Sam, no matter how much they'd been through or how much damage they'd done to each other. And now, with everything he wanted so close, if he let himself get carried away and Sam didn't feel it too... He'd walk away more broken than ever before.

The mirror didn't offer any answers, so he turned away and stripped off his clothes, tossing them into a rumpled pile on the floor, then climbed into the shower. Despite his promise to Sam that he wouldn't be long, he ended up lingering under the hot water, letting it pound down over his aching body. He washed his hair and scrubbed the dried blood off his skin, grumbling to himself about angelic dicks who healed wounds without bothering to offer a little clean-up along with it. When he was finished, he stepped out and dried himself off, then tossed the towel down and picked the bottle up. He shook it, uncorked it and took a sniff, then recoiled with a hiss. "Jesus Christ!"

Great. Now he'd get to smell just as bad as Sam. He looked over the prayer before he poured some out into his hand and muttered, "This is like really bad porn." Telling himself that he'd roll in raw sewage if it meant they could put an end to this thing, Dean started chanting as he smeared the oil over himself. He promised himself that one of the first things he'd do after the world didn't end was get even with Cas, particularly when he had to oil his dick and... other parts. It seemed to take forever, but eventually he grabbed the robe and shrugged it on, wiping his hands on the lapels before he headed back into the bedroom.

If he'd thought Dean was tempting before, it was nothing in comparison to the sight of him walking out of the bathroom, surrounded in steam and wrapped only in a thick, fluffy bathrobe. He could see the oil shining on his throat, and he had the insane urge to wrap his arms around him and breathe deep, so he could see if the rich, spicy oil smelled different on Dean than it did on him. Worse, he wanted to lick it off, and he was pretty sure that was _not_ part of going 'pure' to the ritual. "Are you -" his voice caught and he had to clear his throat, "Are you ready? Castiel left a note that said he got a room two doors down, and we should go over when we're all set."

It had been a long time since he'd felt Sam's eyes on him like that, like he was his entire world, and Dean felt his stomach tighten as hunger slammed into him like a fist. He swallowed and nodded. "Yeah, I guess. Ready as I'll ever be, anyways." He didn't usually have to through this kind of elaborate set-up to have sex, and here he'd done just that. But then, this wasn't just sex, was it? It would be easier if it was, because then he wouldn't have to worry about what was going to happen afterward. Instead, he just had to do his best to keep Sam from finding out how important this really was to him. He glanced over at him in time to see him take a shaky breath, and he frowned. "You know, we don't have to do this if you don't want to, Sammy - just say the word and I'll tell Cas to get lost."

"No, I'm good. Dad always said we had to make some sacrifices, and it's worth it to keep the world safe, right?"

"Yeah, sacrifices," he echoed, shaking his head. He squared his shoulders and strode towards the door, turning around with a grin as he tried to get his brother back in a good mood. "Come on, Sasquatch. The ritual ain't gonna perform itself."

Sam glared at him for the nickname, but headed out after him anyway, following his brother's lead, just like he always did.


	13. Chapter 13

Castiel answered the door almost immediately after they first knocked. "Are you properly anointed and prepared?"

"Dammit, Cas, just let us in so we can get this show on the road!" Dean barked. "We look like idiots, standing out here in the parking lot in bathrobes."

He sighed, thinking that he really should have known better than to expect solemnity from Dean. "If you're wearing shoes, you'll need to leave them at the door," he told them. Apparently Sam had anticipated that kind of request, because he hadn't bothered to put them on, while Dean swore under his breath and hurriedly toed his boots off. Once they were both barefoot, Castiel stepped aside to let them enter.

Dean headed for the bed, obviously ready to start the ritual. "No!" When he turned around to give Castiel a baffled look, he added, "Don't touch the bed yet."

He shrugged and took a seat in one of the chairs instead, while Sam went to lean on the wall beside him. "So, how do we do this?"

Castiel closed the door, laid his hand on it, and said a few words in a low voice. Once he was sure that it was sealed, he turned back to the Winchesters. "I'll light the candles and cast the ritual circle in the room before I leave. When you're ready to start, you'll take your places on the bed. There are no words to this ritual, so you don't need to say anything, but kiss each other to begin."

Dean snickered softly and Cas glared at him, then continued. "This is very important, so pay attention. In order to perform the ritual you have to be completely open, to everything around you, but especially to each other. There can be nothing standing between you, no unresolved issues that will keep you from sharing your minds, hearts, and souls, as well as your bodies. If you've got anything in the way, I suggest you deal with it before you start, as otherwise the ritual will fail. We have one shot at this, so it has to be right."

"So, uh, how do we know if it worked or not?" Sam asked.

"You'll know," Cas assured him. "You'll be able to feel it. Once I leave, I'll seal the door so nothing can come in, but it also means you won't be able to leave until I come back to get you tomorrow. You need to be very sure that you want to do this. Once we start, there's no turning back."

"Why?" Sam asked. "What happens if the ritual doesn't work? Like... what if we can't... you know... finish?"

Castiel frowned. "I don't know. This hasn't been attempted very often, and those couples I read of that didn't complete the ritual..."

"What?" When Castiel didn't answer immediately, Dean frowned. "Cas, what happened to them?"

"They died," he admitted, although he didn't say that it was the ritual officiates that had put them to death. Honestly, he had no way of knowing what might happen, whether the magic would kill them if he didn't, but he hoped he didn't have to find out.

"Died?" Sam said weakly, looking over at Dean. "Maybe we'd better -"

Dean licked his lips. "It's okay. We've gotta do this - if we don't, all hell's gonna break loose, and we're as good as dead then, anyways." And if he had to choose between dying here, with Sam, or getting torn apart by the angels that would almost certainly come after them if they failed, he knew which one he'd pick.

"Yeah. Yeah, I just -" Sam shook his head, a shaky laugh escaping. "I never thought I'd end up in a position where I could literally _die_ if I didn't have sex, y'know?"

Dean grinned. "Yeah, I hear you, Sammy." He looked over at Castiel and nodded. "All right, let's do it."

Castiel lit the two red candles on the small dining table, then used them both to light the large white pillar between them. "Sam, take your robe off and come here."

He ducked his head, but obeyed, his cheeks turning bright red as he walked naked over to stand where Castiel indicated. "Do you, Samuel Winchester, come willingly into the ritual circle, and will you give your consent to whatever is required of you as part of this joining?"

Sam thought briefly about the marriage he'd compared this to, and nodded. "I do."

Castiel gave him an approving smile, then looked at Dean. He didn't ask, but Dean rose from his chair and stripped his robe off, walking over to take his spot as well. "Do you, Dean Winchester, come willingly into the ritual circle, and will you give your consent to whatever is required of you as part of this joining?"

He stared at Sam, and for once, there was no desire to make a joke or do anything but just stand there and look at his brother. "Yeah, I do."

"Put a hand on each other's heart." They obeyed, and Cas reached out to lay his hands on theirs. "Two have entered the circle, but only one will leave, a binding that will endure forevermore," he intoned solemnly, the formal words sending a shiver through both boys. Without any warning, he was gone, leaving them alone... and very naked.

Sam cleared his throat. "So, uh, how did you want to - I mean, do you wanna start?"

Dean didn't bother to answer, just leaned forward and pressed his lips to Sam's, waiting for the magic to take over and the mojo to get going. Instead, nothing happened. He pulled back, frowned, and tried again, only to find his nose smashing up against Sam's.

Sam forced himself not to recoil when Dean leaned towards him, but to stay still, waiting for the heat he remembered from that time in college. Thirty seconds later, he was wondering if he'd somehow remembered it wrong, because he definitely didn't recall noses being smushed together like this. Pulling away, he did his best not to wipe his mouth. "Wow, that was -"

"Awkward." Well, terrible and horrible, but he didn't want to be quite that brutal. It definitely wasn't what he remembered, that was for sure.

"Actually, I was gonna go with awful, but awkward works."

"We're gonna die horrible deaths, aren't we?" The forlorn tone made Dean laugh, but he could tell from Sam's face he didn't find it any funnier than he had. "Too bad we couldn't just get drunk - I mean, that worked before, right?"

Dean gave him a blank look. "I wasn't drunk, Sam."

"But - at the bar, the first night... and then at Stanford, we'd both been drinking," Sam protested, although he knew deep down that Dean was right. It had always been easier to tell himself that it was all due to alcohol, because then he didn't have to think about how Dean had walked away from him like that. If he were really honest, he'd have to admit that neither of them had been drunk - after all, they'd only had a few beers before they left, too eager for each other to - but then he'd left, and Sam was alone and... He shoved that thought away, not wanting to remember how much it had hurt to wake up without him there. "What do we do now, then?"

Dean shrugged. "Dunno, wait until tomorrow and find something else to try, I guess." He hesitated, looking down at his feet before he said softly, "You know, Sam.... about that night..."

"Don't," he bit out. "Just... don't." The last thing he wanted was to hear Dean apologize for it, either the night they'd spent together or his disappearing act the next day. "It happened, and it's past, and that's it."

Dean didn't care if Sam shut him out - they were locked up in the room, with a ritual they had to finish by morning or possibly die, and if that was going to happen, then he was damn well going to make him listen. That night had been the best one of his life, beat anything he'd had since hands down. It had been the only time he'd ever felt like himself, like he didn't have to hide or lie or pretend to be anything other than what he was, and now he didn't know how he'd ever managed to get through the years since then. "That's not it, Sam. That was - making love to you that night... it was more than I ever thought I'd get, and -"

"Don't!" Sam snapped. "Don't try to pretend it meant more to you than it did, okay?"

"I'm not! But I wanted you to have that normal life you wanted, so that's why I left. And I'm sorry... I'm so sorry I did that to you, Sammy. I thought -"

"What, you thought I wasn't normal until I'd had my heart broken?" Sam was hanging on by a thread, perilously close to bursting into tears, or something equally embarrassing. After that morning, he'd promised himself that he'd never let Dean see how badly he'd hurt him, but listening to Dean try to pretend that he'd wanted to stay was just too much to bear. "And if you were going to leave, then why didn't you just stay gone?"

"Because I loved you too much to just leave you like that!" He didn't mean to yell, but he wasn't sure Sam would hear him any other way. Forcing himself to calm down as much as he could, Dean tried to explain. "I tried to stay away, so you could keep your normal life, with Jessica and those friends you were so happy with, but I couldn't. I just - I missed you so much, and I couldn't help myself."

"My friends? What do you know about how happy I was with my friends?"

"I saw you," he admitted. "At the bar, you and Jess. You were shooting pool, and she was leaning against you, and you just looked so happy..."

"You -" Sam's face twisted. "You saw us? You came back, and didn't even let me - Jesus, Dean, how could you do that?" He shook his head. "Why would you have done that to me, just walked away and then -" He felt sick, knowing that Dean had come back, but hadn't even really checked on him, had just looked and walked away again.

"If I'd come back we both know that I wouldn't have left." Of course, that was assuming Sam would've let him back in, but Dean didn't say that. "And Jess was good for you - she could give you that normal life you wanted and everything."

"She wasn't what I wanted though," he said softly. "Not really. I mean, don't get me wrong, she was... she was great, and I loved her, but she wasn't -" _You_. The unspoken word echoed between them, until Sam cleared his throat and added, "She knew, you know. Not that you were - not who you were, but she knew there was someone I... cared about."

Dean nodded. "I wish there was something I could do to make it right." He'd spent so many nights kicking himself for that decision, yearning to go back and do it all over again, and he'd eventually had to accept that there was nothing he could do, no way he could ever make up for the time they'd missed that they should have been together. A sob broke free as tears welled up, pain ripping at him like shards of broken glass. "I'm sorry," he repeated, although he couldn't have said what he was apologizing for - for leaving, for coming back too late, for hurting him... for all of it, really.

Sam could count on one hand the times he'd seen Dean cry like that, and just like before, it made his chest hurt to see his brother in that kind of pain. Worse was knowing he'd had a hand in it. "God, Dean, don't -" he muttered hoarsely, reaching out to pull him close, bending to nuzzle against his cheek. "Don't cry, please... It's okay. I'm okay now. We're - we're okay... aren't we?"

"I want us to be," Dean answered, and thankfully he didn't pull away. If anything, he seemed to move closer, until there was nothing between them, and Sam was reminded of exactly how much clothing they weren't wearing. He couldn't go another second without tasting him and seeing if it had really been as good as he remembered. Cupping Dean's face in one hand, Sam lowered his mouth to his brother's, brushing his lips lightly over the upturned ones. This time there was none of that strange awkwardness, no noses bumping, just slick heat as his tongue slid out over the seam of Dean's lips, easing its way inside his mouth.

When he pulled back, he was dazed with desire, and from the flush he could see working its way into Dean's cheeks - and the sudden press of other parts he was intimately aware of - he wasn't the only one. "Dean," he whispered, savoring the simple word that had been his world since his earliest memories. "Dean..."

Sam's kiss had set him on fire, burning him up from the inside, and Dean slid a hand up his side, pulling him tighter against him. He could feel Sam growing hard against him, and he'd have been happy to keep going right where they were, but there was still the ritual to consider, so he forced himself to take a step back and ask, "I think we're ready to move this to the bed, don't you?"

He nodded, eyes dark with his growing need, but he didn't move until Dean gave him a little push to get him going. Miles of mouth-watering, tanned skin and muscles finally stretched out on the bed, and Dean could hardly figure out where to start. He wanted to taste him, lick him all over, lose himself in the heat of his body, then start all over again. Blindly, he followed after him, crawling up onto the mattress, where he was welcomed with hungry hands that pulled him down for another mind-blowing kiss. "You're probably gonna hate me for saying this, but... you're beautiful," Sam whispered against his mouth.

Dean shivered as Sam's hand moved up his body, from hip to chest, where he traced the lines of his tattoo. "Beautiful, huh?" he asked, mimicking the motion until his hand covered the matching tattoo. He remembered the artist's assumption that they were a couple, that the tattoos were meant as some kind of wedding rings, and he wondered now if the artist hadn't actually been right, except that these marked them in a way that was far more intimate than any ring, like they'd somehow been moving towards this ritual for years- their whole lives, actually. "I love you," he blurted out suddenly. He'd waited so long to be able to say those words, like that, that he couldn't let the chance go without telling him.

Sam's bright, open smile made his chest tighten. Dean hadn't seen that smile since before he'd left for Stanford, and he'd almost given up on seeing it again. "I love you." The words filled him with a warm burst of happiness, better than anything he'd ever thought he could feel. When Sam rolled them over, pressing Dean back against the bed, he pulled him down for another kiss, arching up against him as he started to move, slowly rubbing against him, teasing him with the slick brush of their hard cocks and the promise of more to come. Dean moaned, hands moving blindly over Sam's body when Sam suddenly stiffened, tearing his mouth away from Dean's with a harsh gasp.

Thinking that Sam had lost it just from a few kisses, Dean grinned, ready to tease him about his lack of control, when Sam opened his eyes and looked down at him. His lips twitched, and then he laughed - not the open, jubilant laughter of before, but something harder and harsher, that made Dean shrink back against the mattress in an instinctive bid to get away from him. "Oh, this is just priceless!" Sam crowed. "The pure savior of Heaven, Dean Winchester, naked beneath his own brother!" Stroking a hand down to curl around his hip and hold him still, he asked, "When did this start? 'Cause I've gotta tell you, it's news to me."


	14. Chapter 14

Dean's eyes widened. He'd heard that gleeful, gloating voice before, in a garden years from now. It wasn't Sam in his arms anymore, but how could it be - "Lucifer," he ground out. "You son of a bitch, how -" Pain seared through him and he heard himself cry out just before the world around him turned white and soundless.

There was only a second for him to savor the prospect of having Dean Winchester as a toy before the man convulsed under him. When he opened his eyes, Lucifer felt all of his joy drain away at the sight of the hard gaze that met his own. "Michael," he hissed.

"Brother," he replied evenly. He moved to sit up, but a hand on his hip held him down, and for the moment, he chose not to struggle against it. Instead, he looked up at his fallen brother, mentally cataloging the changes he could see in him. When Lucifer recoiled and the hand slipped away, Michael slowly eased himself back against the headboard. "It seems we find ourselves in a predicament," he commented idly.

Faced with the one who had thrown him down, Lucifer attempted to withdraw, to spirit his vessel away, but he found himself trapped, held motionless by a magic that he didn't recognize, and it wasn't hard to figure out where - or who - it must have come from. "You tricked me," he accused him. "This was a ploy to draw me here so that you could destroy me!"

There was no denying the magic that held them - it burned around them, like chains that bound them, the most ancient of rites, designed to contain that which should never be contained. Michael sighed, knowing that this was a far cry from how he had wanted to meet his brother again. "You never did want to listen to any side but yours," he stated. "And as for tricks, I haven't been the one drawing humans down to Hell, turning them into demons and unleashing them upon the earth to bring about the end of days."

"No, you've just been the one with his sanctimonious ass up on a cloud refusing to take action, just the way you always have," he snapped, glaring at him. "Why bother thinking for yourself when you can let Daddy or Raphael or even Zachariah do it for you, huh? At least I have a mind of my own, and I'm in charge of my own fate." He shoved himself back, away from Michael and the body that was too tempting for his peace of mind.

Michael laughed. "Who do you think set this up, _brother?_ " He looked down at his hand, flexing the fingers, feeling the muscles move under the skin. It had been a long time since he'd had his true vessel at his command, and he'd almost forgotten how right it felt. "Besides, you might not have needed to take charge if you had just been content to stay under the radar. But no, you had to do it your way, had to have it all right then, everything or nothing."

"And why shouldn't it be that way? Better that than your interminable plotting and planning and scheming, always so afraid to even try to live that you have to bury yourself in the message. Why can't you just leave. Me. Alone?"

Michael's gaze snapped back up to Lucifer's, fingers curling into a fist as he fought the urge to reach out and touch, to run his hand over the acres of skin that were bare to his sight. "Because you don't want me to, brother - if you wanted me to simply ignore your existence, you would have stayed in Hell instead of taking a vessel and all but daring me to come to you."

Lucifer's mouth tightened into a thin line. "What the hell did you do to me, anyways?"

He smiled. "Simply answered a few questions, and supplied the tools for the Winchesters to gain their... desire," he told him. "The ritual just happened to draw us in as part of that."

"Ahhh, but brother dear, you forget - I saw Dean Winchester's face before you arrived, and he definitely was not expecting me - or you, I daresay. So I think you can cut the holy crap about anything 'just happening', since I highly doubt they'd have given whatever ritual you gave them a second look if they knew what would happen." Lucifer yanked the covers out from under his brother, taking a vicious delight in making Michael wince as the fabric burned his ass. He pulled the fabric over his lap and settled his attention on the green eyes that regarded him so steadily. "And since you're so anxious to have me remain in Hell... Well, let me tell you about it, shall I? Let me tell you all about that place that you banished me to when you flung me out of Heaven and exiled me from the only home I've ever known." A muscle ticked in his jaw as he fought to keep from simply screaming. "It's cold. And dark, as black as when light didn't even exist, all the time. There's no music, no laughter or singing, just screaming. And crying - they cry so much, wailing every time their souls give in a little more. You stayed. You've been with the others, sanctimonious pricks that they are, but they've still been there. But I've been -" His voice shook, and he took a hard breath to steady his nerves. "Until last year, I hadn't seen another angel in two thousand years. Think of that, dear brother. Two thousand years without laying eyes on another of your own kind, hearing their voice or feeling their touch..."

For a few minutes, Michael luxuriated in the sound of the smooth voice that he'd gone lifetimes without hearing. He did his best not to listen to his description of Hell, not wanting to think about his brother trapped there, lost and lonely, cut off from everyone, but he couldn't help saying softly, "You aren't the only one who has found existence difficult since you... left," he said softly, tearing his gaze away, unable to look at the pain in his eyes any longer. "I may have had the luxuries of Heaven, and the company of my brothers, along with all that our Father has been able to offer, but it's been... cold, without your light." He hesitated, then admitted, "I've become quite a solitary being without you."

Whatever tenuous control he had remaining snapped. "Solitary? You call yourself _solitary?_ " he howled, turning a face twisted with rage and pain towards him. "You've spent two thousand years amid the comfort of Heaven, surrounded by light and music and warmth, turning your nose up at a feast while I starve, and you want me to feel _sorry_ for you?!?"

Lucifer whirled and grabbed his shoulders, shoving him down and pinning him against the bed. "I didn't ask for your pity," Michael protested. "But neither will I hide my pain from you."

"I cried out to you. Did you hear me, those first few hundred years, when I screamed for you with every breath? Did you stand there and look down at me in my prison and tell yourself how much you missed me? And did you ever, even once think that you could have come down to me?" Lucifer, son of the Morning Star, stared at his brother, his breath coming fast. "Did you ever think that you could have given me Heaven if you'd come to me, even for a moment?" he finished softly.

The words spilled over him like hot embers, burning him with every syllable. "I heard your calls," he told him. "And I wanted so badly to go down to you, even to stay with you. But -" He shook his head, unable to tell him of Raphael's treachery, of how their brother had imprisoned and tortured him until he forgot everything but duty. That was his burden, and his alone, to bear. Instead, he worked one hand free and reached up to cup Lucifer's cheek. "I never forgot you."

Fingers brushed his cheek, warm and gentle as only Michael's touch could be. Lucifer blinked, and tears fell, streaking down his cheeks in a glittering diamond rain. "Then why didn't you come for me?" he demanded. "Why didn't you - why didn't you want me?" He winced inwardly at the sound of his voice, as forlorn as any of the abused children that had entered his realm.

"I wanted you," Michael promised. "I wanted - I wanted..." He trailed off, unable to put it into words, unable to explain that the only thing he'd ever wanted, was him.

Just knowing that Michael had wanted him, that he'd even thought about coming to him... "I thought you forgot me," he whispered hoarsely. "When you tossed me down and turned your back... I thought you didn't - that you stopped -"

"I've never stopped loving you," he whispered, watching silver streaks appear on his brother's face. Lucifer's grip on him eased further, and Michael was quick to brush his tears away, remembering days when he would have banished them with a kiss instead. "Nothing could take my love for you away. Nothing."

Slowly, as though he still half-feared he'd be beaten back, Lucifer's head lowered, closing the distance between them until finally his forehead was leaning against Michael's. A shudder ripped through him as Michael embraced him, one hand stroking up his back, drawing him closer until he somehow ended up in his brother's arms, body to body and skin to skin. He braced his arms on either side of Michael, burying his face in his neck until he finally asked, "What do you want from me? Because I can't let you - I can't lose this again, Michael. I can't." If he turned away from him now, he'd rip his Grace out and make sure his first human act was a step in front of an oncoming train.

Michael almost missed the muffled words, too lost in the warm wash of air over his skin. He shivered and closed his eyes, soaking in the feel of Lucifer so close to him again, even if it wasn't like it used to be. They'd been so close before, Grace entwined with Grace, until sometimes he hadn't been able to tell where one left off and the other began. But maybe, just maybe, they could have that again... Taking a shuddering breath, Michael pushed Lucifer back until he could see his face once more. "I want you to come home with me."

 _Home._ The word reverberated in the very depths of his being, every fiber of his Grace crying out for it, for the welcome and warmth that he'd been banished from so long ago. He thought about that, about being able to have Michael near again, but then came the memories of those he'd hunted and killed, and he shook his head. "No. No, I can't. The others, they'll - come with me, instead. I'll give you -"

Two fingers stopped his words. "You know I can't do that." Michael looked grave. "You're an angel, Lucifer. You belong in Heaven - with me."

"I can't," he whispered miserably. "I was banished, remember?"

"Banishment doesn't last forever. Put your pride away, brother, and come home." He carded a hand through his hair. "Please," he pleaded, drawing him down for a light kiss.

"Yes." The word was almost too faint to be heard, but somehow it seemed to echo in the small motel room all the same. "Yes," he repeated, just before Michael's lips closed on his. When he felt Michael's Grace rise around him, Lucifer didn't fight it, but gave himself up to it instead. He let Michael pull him free of his vessel and draw him close, twining around him until they were once more as inseparable as they used to be, a bright, glowing star that filled the room with a great wash of light before they rose beyond the earthly plane to seek out their home in Heaven.


	15. Chapter 15

It was a crisp, clear Tuesday in October when Castiel showed up. Not that that was unusual - he was a familiar visitor, showing up every Tuesday to visit with his fallen friends. He received a few looks of acknowledgment from some of the staff as he made his way towards the Winchesters. They were as he'd left them, no change from last Tuesday to this one. Castiel nodded briefly. "Sam. Dean." He reached into the bag he carried and withdrew a bacon cheeseburger, which he laid down in front of Dean, and a fresh green salad, which he placed in front of Sam, then took a seat nearby.

He cleared his throat. "I, uh, I have been told that I should speak to you when I visit." Bobby had gruffly informed him he was supposed to talk when he found out what Castiel did with his Tuesdays, but he'd neglected to tell him what he should say, so he fell silent again for a moment, then ventured, "It is a beautiful day outside."

There was no response, but he hadn't expected one. He'd grown used to the silence over the last six months, had learned how to talk through it without the awkward pauses and uncomfortable tension that everyone else he'd seen address the brothers had displayed. Sometimes he still waited for a minute or two, giving them time to answer if they wished, but privately he had resigned himself to continue in this stillness forever.

"I have been hunting," he said in a low voice. "Bobby finds things in the newspaper that are nearby, and I go out to take care of them." He could almost hear Dean's outrage at him trying to take on the supernatural world on his own, even if he did still have some of his 'angel mojo', so he quickly reassured him, "I am not going alone. I have... a partner. You might not like him, but I believe he means well, and he has been of a great deal of assistance."

Still no answer, although he wondered if the name of his partner might provoke one. He decided not to say anything just yet, saving that information for another day. Instead, he told them about his most recent hunt, where they had taken down a small coven that was on the verge of practicing human sacrifice. Luckily, they hadn't progressed beyond grave robbing before they were caught, and Castiel's voice warmed with pride as he remembered how good it had felt to leave his quarry alive and properly repentant.

He stared at the untouched food as he wound down, then added, "Bobby has asked me to convey his greetings, as well. He... cannot come to visit just yet, but says he will once he is up to it."

For a few moments, Castiel allowed himself to think about that first Tuesday, when the ritual was completed and he'd found them in the hotel room. They'd appeared to be sleeping, Sam curled up against Dean's side, head lying on his shoulder, and it wasn't until two days had gone by that he'd realized that it wasn't a natural sleep. "You - I think you would be pleased to know that Chuck and Becky will be getting married soon. They have said that they hope to have children, and they will be naming them after both of you."

He tried to think of anything else he needed to say, but there was nothing. It would just be idle chatter, anyways, the kind of thing Dean had always hated. Taking the last container from his bag, he set the pie and its two forks down between them. "I will be back next week," he informed them, reaching out to lay a hand on the rough granite of the stone in front of him. His fingers traced the inscription, one name and then another, before he rose and walked away without looking back.

His partner was waiting beside the Impala. "Nice chat?" he asked casually.

"You could come with me if you wished," Castiel replied, pulling the driver's door open. He fished the key out of his pocket, thumb smoothing over the metal for a moment, then fit it into the ignition.

"Somehow I don't think they'd appreciate my presence." Crowley slid into the passenger seat, and Castiel waited until his seat belt was buckled before he started the car and pulled away.

Behind him, the last glimmers of autumn sun played over the double headstone, indistinguishable from so many others save for its carving: _Samuel & Dean Winchester. 1983-2010_ and _1979-2010_. _Together in Life, Not Divided in Death_.


End file.
